


A Day in the Life

by shadesfalcon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Homophobia, M/M, Non-Supernatural AU, Orthorexia Nervosa, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1606073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesfalcon/pseuds/shadesfalcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the surface, Dean has always been the leather-jacket-wearing womanizing jock and Castiel has always been the perfect obedient angel. But when Castiel approaches Dean with a questionably-legal idea, Dean has to come to grips with the fact that Castiel might be the only person who sees them both clearly.<br/>Inspired by the idea that since Castiel rebelled against heaven, there should be more fics with him as a rebellious teenager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I am not a fan of John. It shows. Also, I know nothing about baseball. That probably also shows.

“Look me in the eye, Dean.”

Dean shut the door of the car after Sam was clear of it and then bent over to look through the passenger side window of the black Impala.

“Sir?”

“Remember to talk to Coach Henriksen about what we discussed. I don’t need you starting off behind again this semester.” Dean nodded quickly, and his father gestured for him to follow Sam into the school.

It wasn’t like he’d meant to get behind over last summer, but the pool parties encased in lazy sun and pleasant buzz had eaten away the month between baseball camp and the fall semester more quickly than he’d anticipated. It was amazing how out of practice he’d felt with that first swing of the bat.

 _But I wasn’t that lazy over winter break_ , he insisted to himself, swallowing down the flutter or nerves. _I’m just excited to get back to work._

Sam was already almost 20 feet in front of him, practically flying into the school, and Dean let himself smile at the kid’s excitement. If Sam was this ready to attack his first day as a sophomore, Dean could face his first day of practice.

***

Unfortunately, there was more than practice to contend with through the day. Botany hadn’t been his first choice, because, you know, _fucking plants_ , but it had the highest pass rate. If he wanted to meet his science hours without getting kicked off the team it was his best bet. He watched Mrs. Cate write “cellulose” above the square representing the plant cell and vaguely wondered why something called _cell_ ulose wouldn’t be in all cells, rather than select ones.

Instead of wasting his time contemplating a question that wouldn’t be on the test, he let his eyes wander to the opposite side of the room. He unexpectedly locked eyes with the dark haired kid in the front far right desk. He fished for a name in his head and suddenly remembered _Castiel._ Castiel raised his eyebrows by way of greeting and turned back to his desk.

Without anything else to do, Dean let himself watch Castiel as the kid quickly made multiple, large, dark marks on his notebook with his pencil. He turned back around and made eye contact with Dean again, holding up the notebook so Dean could read what he’d scrawled there.

THE MITOCHONDRIA IS THE POWERHOUSE OF THE CELL

It was so opposite of the dick he’d kinda been expecting that Dean snorted quietly in surprise, quickly returning his eyes to his own notebook in case Mrs. Cate had heard the noise. When he glanced back up later, Castiel was deeply engrossed in the lecture again. Figures. The kid barely lived outside the classroom.

***

“What’s up, Sam?” Dean grinned, pushing his way into Sam’s little group in the cafeteria. Jeesh, did he used to look like this, too? Was it just him, or were Sam’s friends all so _short_?

“Dean,” Sam greeted him back, his grin almost wider than Dean’s. “This is everyone. Everyone, this is my brother, Dean.”

Dean watched the admiration growing on the new face’s clustered around Sam. Older brothers that paid specific attention to their little siblings were a thing of wonder to freshman, much more so a brother of Dean’s social standing.

“You pick out your girlfriend for the semester?” Dean quipped, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Have you?”

“For the whole semester? Sam, come on. Who do you think I am?” He ruffled Sam’s hair, and Sam ducked away. “Well, when you finally narrow down your choices, don’t forget that _I’m_ the designated driver.” He began to walk away from the group as Sam shot back another reply.

It was good for the rest of the class to remember the family ties supporting Sam. He thought back to his own years in Junior High with a shudder. At least those days were far behind him. It was amazing how much a leather jacket and a .531 freshman year batting average could get you.

He was brought out of his self-reflection when he had to step around Castiel in order to get to the table where the rest of his teammates were congregating.

“Oh, hey,” Castiel said, and Dean started.

“What?” Dean snapped. Funny signs aside, it didn’t pay to talk to people like Castiel Novak in public. Not in the lunchroom. It wasn’t like he had anything against the guy, but if you looked up “square” in Urban Dictionary you’d get a perfect description of Castiel.

Unfortunately his obvious annoyance hadn’t seemed to faze Castiel in the the slightest.

“Mrs. Cate is redoing the syllabus this year,” he said. “They’re saying the class isn’t measuring up to current academic standards, or something like that. Thought you ought to know. They’ll probably still let you transfer out at this point. It’s not like the school wants _you_ failing out of a class.”

Dean gaped into the insult, unable to come up with anything resembling a response before Castiel faded into the crowd. Had the kid just called him an idiot? Did he think that pulling the hours needed for full-time baseball training alongside his family responsibilities left a lot of priority time for academic pursuits?

He briefly considered chasing after the kid and pounding some sense into him. He couldn’t let comments like that bounce around the school.

He was stopped in the middle of his first step forward by Evan’s heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Haven’t seen you in weeks, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know.” He wasn’t really paying attention, still scanning the moving crowds for the conspicuous black hair. When he didn’t see it, he resigned himself to having to deal with it later, and gave Evan his full attention.

“What have you been up to?” Evan slung his arm around Dean’s shoulders and pulled him toward their table.

“Dean!” Justin cheered from where he was standing, on top of his chair. Except, it came on more like “Deemh!” spoken around a mouthful of hotdog.

Dean nodded in acknowledgement and sunk to the table.

“You gonna eat something or not, Dean?” Daniel asked, not really caring much about the answer. He’d been added to the team at the very end of the last semester after Carl had managed to tear both his MCL and ACL.

“From this cafeteria? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Someone is new to the team!” Evan gasped in mock horror. “ _Dean_ does not eat the _filth_ produced by this cafeteria. _Athletes_ consider _everything_ that they put into their bodies.” He settled down into one of the chairs and dropped the mocking tone of voice. “Unfortunately, they also apparently don’t carry around brown paper lunch bags like total dweebs.”

“Since when,” Alan scoffed, waving his bag around in the air. “You all are just jealous.”

Dean wasn’t listening, still half-heartedly scanning the crowd for Novak. Well, if he thought that Dean was going to transfer out of a class just because it was going to be more difficult than advertised, he didn’t understand the tenacity it took to be an athlete.

***

“There’s none so blind as those who will not listen,” the teacher said, pausing at the end of the quote to try and force the class to think about it. Dean was sitting in his modern lit class and had barely been paying attention until that moment.

 _That’s me_ ,he realized in annoyance. _In over my head because I took advice as an insult._ The botany course in question had swiftly become legend in the school. In a misapplied attempt to improve academic standers in the school, the classes with lowered expectations had had their syllabuses completely rewritten, with Botany suffering the most drastic change. All requests for transfers out were being denied. No matter how many verbal protests from students, written protests from parents, or nervous glances amongst the teachers, the board, encouraged by Mr. Crowley, refused to reduce the workload the class had been upgraded to. They claimed they’d fix it for “next year” but the “decision had already been made” for this one.

Dean had had his first test in the class that morning and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do about that. He hadn’t even able to define some of the terms, much less properly apply them to the essay questions. Essay questions. Ug.

Really the only good thing about Botany was its placement in his schedule. He had gym right afterward, so he was able to work out his frustration pretty efficiently.

His eyes slid across the room to Castiel. Even though the two of them shared both Botany and Modern Lit, the kid hadn’t so much as made eye contact with him since that first day. Not that Dean was complaining. He seemed nice, if naïve, and he wouldn’t have enjoyed having to beat the crap out of him.

“Castiel,” Ms. Williams said, making Dean jump. If he didn’t stop thinking about this kid, he was going to creep himself out.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Let’s backtrack a little and try to apply that particular quote to ‘Life of Pi’. We saw the consequences of stubbornness when Pi Patel refused to give up, regardless of the fact that the other option was to face months of self-inflicted torture on a salt-saturated inflatable.”

“I’m sorry, what’s the question?”

“I’m asking why you think Pi Patel’s would choose to cling blindly to life when he knew it was the wrong decision.”

There was a few seconds of silence while Dean congratulated himself on not getting that particular question. He felt that it was mean to reference works that they’d finished reading weeks ago.

“I’m sorry? Are you implying that Pi had foreknowledge of the events to come?”

“I’m asking about stubbornness, not ESP, Mr. Novak.”

“Then I’m afraid that I still don’t understand the question. May I opt out of it?” He smiled complacently.

 _He’s annoyed,_ Dean realized with a start. He saw it in the narrowed eyes and slightly parted lips. Now that he focused on it, even with the limited view Dean had, he could tell Castiel was obviously pissed off by the question. He was a little surprised when Ms. Williams nodded accommodatingly and turned to another unsuspecting student.

***

By the end of his last class of the day, Dean had finally managed to successfully turn his mind to baseball-y thoughts rather than trying to figure out what had annoyed Castiel so much. He was rushing to stuff everything in locker, since Coach had just given team-wide lecture about late arrivals, when he heard the commotion down the hall.

He shook his head in annoyance and tried unsuccessfully to slam the locker shut. Something was in the way, and he swung the door back open in exasperation to try and shove everything further back.

The sounds from around the corner grew louder. Dean heard the unmistakable chant of “fight fight fight” and grew even more frustrated. He was either going to have to walk right through that mess or take the long way around, risking being late. Why didn’t these people just go home?

 _Because there are more people out there with something to prove than you_ , he thought to himself, and then shook the thought away with another violent shove to his lock contents. Not that it helped.

After taking a moment to force himself to calm down, Dean pulled most of the books out of the locker completely and removed the large water bottle that had been blocking the back half. Throwing it up onto the top section, he slid the books back into place. This time the locker clanged shut without resistance.

Dean turned to looked down the hallway toward the generic noise, his gym clothes held loosely in his right hand and his backpack strap in his left, with the backpack itself still on the floor.

He was still debating which route was more of a risk when he heard a single distinct word screamed from around the corner.

“Dean!”

He dropped both his clothes and his backpack, sprinting toward his little brother’s cry for help. He came around the corner quickly enough that he almost lost his footing on the tiled floor.

Sam, his Sam, was pinned up against the wall by two guys whose names didn’t matter at the moment. Gordon, _his_ name Dean knew, had his arm cocked back for the punch. Dean knew that, even as fast as he was moving, he wouldn’t get there in time.

“Hey!” he shouted, with all the rage he’d been holding back for weeks. “You’re mine, bitch!”

Gordon turned, deliberately met Dean’s eyes, and smirked. Dean felt his stomach turn, and then Gordon punched Sam in his right side, directly over his liver. Sam fell forward, gasping, being supported by whomever Gordon had recruited into his crusade against Dean. Which was going to end right now.

The crowd scattered out of Dean’s way as he hurtled forward. Gordon had turned to face Dean, adopting a solid stance with his fists up. Underestimating Dean’s enthusiasm.

Rather than sliding to a stop, Dean kept his momentum and ran full force into Gordon. He wrapped his arms around his left side, grabbed the far edge of the jacket and twisted hard.

Gordon lost his careful footing and fell onto his side, unable to predict his own spinning trajectory. Dean pushed Gordon’s face down in the tile where he gasped for breath. Dean rolled himself up so he was on his knees, still pushing Gordon down.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, this time less desperately. Dean risked a glance up and saw that Sam was now free from the wall where he had been pinned, one hand held loosely against his right side. “Dean, just let it be.”

Dean ignored the request and let Gordon flip himself over so he was looking up at Dean. As soon as his face was visible, Dean landed a quick one-two to Gordon’s jaw. Before he could recover, Dean repeated the move into Gordon’s abdomen.

Suddenly Sam pulling at Dean’s arm. “Don’t! Dean, if he has to go to the ER you’ll get suspended from the team!”

That did make Dean pause, looking down at Gordon who was spitting blood out of his mouth. He let Sam pull him to his feet.

“Just so you know, Gordon,” Dean smirked down, speaking loudly enough for the room to hear him. “If you touch my little brother again, I will slit you open, throat to dick, and peel your skin back. Then I’ll pin you to the floor by that peeled back flesh.” Gordon tried to struggle into a sitting position, but Dean pushed him back down with one foot. “And when you have finally faded away into death, I will finish skinning you completely, and I will make you into shoes.”

After a single no-holds-barred kick into Gordon’s ribs, he let Sam pull him down the hall, back the way he’d come.

“Shit, Dean. What happens if someone tells?”

“Gordon won’t tell,” Dean mumbled, picking up his backpack and clothes. “It’s not his style. And it’s not credible enough coming from anyone else. At least not when the accusation is against the schools prize baseball star.” He shook his hand out, flexing the fingers slowly. Didn’t feel like anything was broken.

“Let me see,” Sam insisted. Dean obliged without really paying attention. While Sam was looking at the hand, acting like he knew what he was looking for, Dean considered the results of the brief fight.

_Scare the shit out of some freshman. Check. Secure reputation as badass. Check. Make my position on messing with my brother very clear. Check._

Knowing Gordon like he did, Dean really doubted there would be authority involvement. Not that that didn’t mean Gordon himself wouldn’t be looking for anything to take Dean apart, but that wasn’t new. He smirked to himself. All things considered, he’d come out on top today.

“Hey,” Sam said, making Dean look down at him.

“What?”

“Practice?” He’d have to take the long way around now. He couldn’t risk going back through that crowd. He was definitely going to be late.

***

“Coach, sir, I’m sorry! I wasn’t messing around or wasting time, I swear. Some kids who had it out for me were ganging up on Sam, and I couldn’t just let that stand.”

“Are you saying you got in a _fight_ , Winchester?”

Dean licked his lips nervously and kept silent. Coach Henriksen sighed and ran one hand over his face, rubbing his eyes like he couldn’t believe he was awake. Dean looked down at the floor, waiting, face blank. The rest of the team was already spread out behind him, stretching and warming up.

“Why don’t you just go home for today?”

Dean shut his eyes hard but then forced himself to smooth his face back out before he looked up. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t give me that quiet little ‘yes, sir’. I can’t just let a fight go. Not in good conscious anyway. Think of it like a reactionary one-day suspension.”

“Can’t you please, just, make me run laps or something? I’ll stay after and run them. I promise I will. I’ll run every single one you tell me to.”

“I’m not going to let this go, Dean. You have a habit of getting into fights, and I’m worried it’s going to cause more trouble than you can handle. This is your senior year; make it or break it time if you’re looking to play in college. I’m hoping this will be a not-subtle incentive. Now get out of my gym.”

Dean nodded, keeping his silence this time and turned to leave the gym.

“Dean,” Henriksen’s voice stilled him, but he didn’t turn back. “I don’t see a reason why this is something that needs to get back to your father.” Now Dean did turn back around, looking at Henriksen with an obvious gratitude. “As far as I’m concerned, it was an internal problem that got handled internally. Now, I thought I told you to get out of my gym.”

Dean nodded and hurried across the floor and through the swinging doors. He pushed through them quickly enough that some of the flaking red paint came away on his hands.

Once he was out in the hallway, he paused, not sure where to go from there. If Henriksen was serious about not telling his dad, this could actually be a rare day off. Maybe he’d head down to Bobby’s diner. Clearly he couldn’t take Sam with him, because there’d be questions if they both arrived home at the same time, but he could just chill for a few hours. Bobby never seemed pissed to see him there.

Decided, he turned to walk toward the nearest exit, and unexpectedly found himself face to face with Castiel.

“Fuck!” Dean shouted, stumbling back a few steps. “What do you want, Novak?”

“Just wanted to offer my congratulations on a fight well won.”

“Yeah, well. I should have finished the job. Fights that don’t end up with someone having to see a doctor usually have to be repeated.” He tried to shoulder around the boy in front of him, but Castiel just moved back into his way.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’d mourn that, wouldn’t you _Winchester._ ” He exaggerated Dean’s last name, like he was mocking Dean’s own usage of “Novak.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Just saying. If you lost Gordon as a fight buddy then who would you punch? You’d either have to start picking on some kids who don’t deserve it or let your reputation slide into the ‘nice guy’ territory.” When Dean didn’t say anything, Castiel shrugged. “Just a thought.”

“You little prick,” Dean started but Castiel interrupted him.

“Gordon is down at the nurse’s office. Since they’re probably going to be trying to get him to cough up your name, I doubt he’ll be leaving any time soon. Incidentally, he drove here this morning.” He looked at Dean like this should mean something, but Dean just made a “what?” face, and Castiel sighed wearily. “Watch and learn, Winchester.”

With that, he turned and made his way toward the school door that led out to the parking lot. Dean wasn’t sure if he followed because he was still pissed at the kid, because he didn’t really have anything else to do, or because he was actually intrigued.

***

Dean was used to the school being pretty empty by the time he left practice, but he was surprised that it had taken so little time for most of the students to disappear. The buses had already pulled away, and the parking lot was almost empty. Castiel was walking purposefully, and eventually came to a stop besides a red El Camino.

“Gordon’s car?” Dean asked, catching on.

Without responding Castiel whipped a heavy pocketknife out of his coat, causing Dean to take a step back, in obvious distress.

“You can’t have that on school property,” he hissed, and Castiel rolled his eyes. Dean did a quick 180 to check if there was anybody nearby. By the time he got all the way around, Castiel had slashed through the back passenger tire and was moving around to the other side.

“Be lookout, if you’re so concerned.”

“ _Castiel_!” Dean snapped, causing Castiel to look up in annoyance.

“It’s Cas. Just Cas. Who needs three syllables in a name anyway?” He finished with the back driver’s side tire and moved toward the front.

“Jeez, how sharp is that thing?”

“Sharp enough.”

Dean huffed and turned back around the make sure they were still alone. He kept his back to Cas-- _Castiel_ \-- _Novak!--_ until he heard the click of the pocketknife snapping shut again. Immediately he strode away, listening to Cas’-- _Novak’s--_ footsteps follow behind, until he felt they had separated themselves and the crime with enough distance. Then he spun around and gripped Cas-- _Castiel--_ tightly by the lapels of his coat.

“What the _fuck_ was that? Why did you do that?”

Cas-- _fine it can be Cas_ \--looked remarkably calm for someone who had allegedly just watched Dean beat the shit out of someone’s face.

“Just showing you an alternate method.”

“Yeah but _why_?”

“Because Gordon’s birth certificate is an apology letter from the condom factory. Seriously, the guy had it coming.”

Dean snorted in surprise and let Cas go, watching as he readjusted his coat.

“This is more my style than a fist to the face.”

Dean considered Cas for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “You don’t exactly match your reputation.”

Cas gestured back at the slashed tires. “Like I said. This is more my thing. It’s what you do when you _don’t_ want a reputation.” He turned around, making his way cattycorner across the parking lot. “Besides,” he called back over his shoulder. “Who really ever matches their reputation?”

Dean almost let him go. In fact, he waited until Cas had taken fifteen or twenty steps before he made the decision to run and catch up with him.

“Hey! You gave me the heads up about the botany class.”

“Yeah. I’m the office aid during first period. I heard it on the grapevine.”

“Well, I didn’t take your advice.”

“I’d noticed.”

“See, the thing is, I should have.”

“I’d noticed.”

“Why don’t you shut the hell up? I’m trying to say that I’m in trouble now. I need to pass this class, and I’m not currently doing that. Not after that test today. Would you be interested in tutoring me? I don’t have a lot of free time, but we could make it work.” Cas stopped walking and looked at Dean. “I can pay you.”

“Dean,” Cas said, his mouth twisting in amusement. “What makes you think I’m doing well in that class?”

“Because you’re doing well in every class. That’s your thing.”

“That my reputation?”

“That’s what I said! Look don’t…” He trailed off as he considered the efficiently slashed tires behind him.

“Sorry.”

“You’re seriously not passing that class?”

“Well, I’m passing, but I’m not doing well enough to be tutoring anyone.” He started to walk away again and Dean hurried to catch up.

“Well, what about a study group then?”

“You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you? I have a better idea. What are you doing after school Friday?”

“Baseball practice. Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and most Saturdays.”

“That’s fine. What I have in mind is probably better to do after it’s dark outside.” Suddenly, he pulled open the door of the car they were walking past and slid into the driver’s seat. “See you then, Winchester.”

“It’s Dean,” Dean said as the door slammed shut. “And what are you talking about?”

But Cas was already backing out of the parking space.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t realize how normal swear words are to me until this…I’m sorry?

Dean tried to ignore the upcoming Friday. He refused to let himself be excited, he refused to think about what Cas might have planned, and he refused to tell Sam. The last bit was the weirdest. He caught himself opening his mouth to talk about it more than once. Each time he closed his lips and changed the subject before he’d even started.

On the plus side, he didn’t think he’d ever put more effort into his homework. Busy was safe, and nothing occupied his attention more than trying to get homework done.

However, with grave inevitability, Friday came around. The worst part of the day was the actual classes. Cas was intentionally avoiding eye contact every time Dean saw him. Everything dragged, and even the teachers seemed to wish the day was over. Not that that was anything new.

Really, he spent most of the day forcing himself to contemplate why he cared about what Cas had in mind. He was 90% sure that he wouldn’t be joining in, if Cas even really had anything planned at all.

On the other hand, something about the way Cas had effortless slashed those tires piqued his curiosity. Surely anybody who considered destruction of property an everyday offense could come up with something incredible for a Friday night.

Fortunately, baseball practice actually managed to drag his mind away from the upcoming possibilities. He lost himself in the pull back of the bat against the impact of the ball, the raw rub of his legs against his gym clothes, and the taste of dust in his mouth.

At least, until he hit the showers afterward. A quick glance at the clock confirmed his suspicion that practice had run late. Was Cas even still waiting? Had he ever considered waiting? What kind of commitment was a half-formed plan for “a better idea” two days in the future that wasn’t brought up again?

Either way, he purposefully lingered in the shower, letting his teammates leave the locker room ahead of him.

Given his doubts, Dean was surprised to see Cas leaning against the hallway wall upon his exit. He’d thrown on his clothes without really toweling off, so they were sticking to his body, awkwardly refusing to hang normally.

“Hey,” Dean said, unsure what other verbal options were open to him.

“Took your time. Do you know how many times I had to walk back and forth in front of that doorway whenever groups of your teammates came out, so it wouldn’t look like I was waiting around here for someone?”

“I’m guessing four, at the most. I’m pretty sure they left in about four groups.”

Cas made a face like he was surprised at Dean’s snark. “That’s still four more times than I was comfortable with.”

“Whatever. What were you going to do if I’d actually come out with the group anyway? You don’t tend to plan ahead very well.”

“I don’t _tend_ to? In all of 48 hours with 10 total minutes of interaction, you know my _tendencies_?”

Dean rolled his eyes to avoid any other response to the rhetorical question. Considering his other option was admitting that he’d spent a significant percentage of the last 48 hours thinking about Cas, he was comfortable with this decision.

“Whatever,” he sighed. “What was this plan that you had in mind?”

“It’s less of a plan and more of a prank. A planned prank.”

Dean snorted through his nose, putting his hands up in the air in a unmistakable “no” gesture. “I don’t think so. You’re unplanned prank on Wednesday was technically a misdemeanor. I’m more than apprehensive about anything you think requires planning.”

“Felony.”

“What?”

“Technically it was a felony. Any malicious destruction of property that either exceeds $250 in damage or involves a motor vehicle is a felony. Plus, incidents involving a vehicle can also result in a driver’s license suspension.”

“Holy fuck.”

“Don’t worry. What I had in mind today is not a felony. This is just a way to blow off some steam.”

“How have you gotten through three and a half years of school without everyone knowing that you’re criminally insane?”

Dean’s attention was drawn to Cas’ lips with the next sentence. They parted slightly into a half smile and hesitated before he spoke. “I don’t get caught.” He over-enunciated the words, pausing between them. He hit the “t” at the end hard, turning it into more of a “tsk” sound.

Dean quickly moved his gaze back up to Cas’ eyes before he had to explain himself. Unfortunately, the florescent lights of the hallway reflected back in mirrored blue. Bright deep blue. He bit the inside of his cheek.

_I am NOT falling for this guy. Not some book-geek who, come to think of it, can’t even book-geek properly. Tell him Dad wants you home on time tonight. Reschedule. No! Don’t reschedule. Just walk away. But say goodbye first. No, don’t say anything._

What actually came out of his mouth was, “That’s sounds like it could be interesting.”

Cas’ answering smile started in his eyes, traveling down until those stupidly perfect lips spread up in a closed-lip smile. It still wasn’t much of a change from his usual facial expression, but it was a smile that screamed “right where I want you.”

“However,” Dean forced himself to say, and Cas’ smile disappeared. “I can’t risk it. It means a lot to me to be on this team, especially this year. It’s make it or break it time.”

“It’s on the guy who is single-handedly responsible for not letting people switch out of Botany.”

Dean clenched his teeth. “Yeah, but…I’m guessing it’s not a _harmless_ prank.”

“I’m working pretty hard to talk you into this, so obviously no. It’s not a harmless prank. What would be the point of a harmless prank on someone you hate? I’m motivating you.”

“You’re motivating me? This is about me?”

“It takes two.”

Dean felt a sharp taste of disappointment at that, and he knew he had it bad. What had he expected? Cas to admit that this _was_ all about him?

Then Cas continued, “Besides. I had to think of something that would pique your interest.”

“Fine. I’m in.”

Cas nodded once, satisfied, and headed down the hall. “Keep up then.”

“Are you actually going to tell me what’s going on? Seriously, if I’m getting into this, then I kind of expect to be informed of the actual plan.”

“Can’t risk you chickening out on me.” Dean was surprised to notice that he was struggling to keep up with Cas. Even though Dean was the taller of the two, the pace kept him falling behind.

“I said I’m in, didn’t I? I know Crowley is in charge of most of the paperwork-aspect of the school. At least, I know that everyone is blaming him for the horror that is this high school right now.”

“Your point?” Cas practically burst through the stairwell door and started double-footed _jumping_ up them two at a time. It might have been impressive if it didn’t look like he would miss his footing and break his neck at any minute.

“I’m just saying, I already know we’re about to annoy the hell out of the most powerful man at the school, and I’m still on board.” Cas took a turn down another hallway so quickly that Dean almost missed it. “Will you slow down?”

“Don’t you run for a living?”

“No,” Dean snapped. “I hit and catch and throw. Baseball is about precision, not headily hurtling through school hallways. Now answer my question!”

“What question?”

“WHAT ARE WE DOING?”

Cas came to a sudden stop in front of an closed wooden door, almost causing Dean to run into him. Placing his hand on the doorknob he turned to look back at Dean, mock surprise on his face.

“You’re asking me to tell you every step in my plan?”

“That would be nice!”

“Well, aren’t you a little black hole of need.”

Before Dean could decide how he wanted to respond to that, Cas twisted the knob and pushed the door open, following it into the dark room. Dean could seem him navigating through the secretary’s office and through toward Crowley’s door.

“Uh, these doors are supposed to be locked, right?” Dean asked, looking around the room. It was unmistakably Crowley’s. He would have known even without the gold filigree letters on the door. He’d only met the man once, but this modernized 18th century British décor screamed “Crowley”. Dean would have sworn there was a decanter of scotch somewhere in the room, regardless of the school’s “dry-campus” policy.

“Are you coming?” Cas’ voice echoed from within the dark.

With a thrill of adrenaline, Dean realized there was no coming back from this. He was going to follow that voice into the dark, and he was going to do it without the slightest idea what was going to happen next.

“Yeah,” he responded, voice rasping. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, closing the door behind him. “I’m hitting the lights.”

He flicked the switch and saw that Cas was standing next to the desk, face full of disdain. “This isn't an office. It's Hell with fluorescent lighting.” He looked up to inspect the ceiling. “Ok, I see that one, but is it the only one in the room?”

Dean looked at the ceiling, trying to see what Cas was seeing. “You are _not_ talking about those water sprayer things. The fire things?!”

“They’re just called fire sprinklers. And, before you freak out, understand that they’re not all connected. They’re activated because heat breaks the glass, allowing the water to flow. Just because one goes off in this room, doesn’t mean they’re going to go off in any other location in the school. Along those lines, they’re not going to trigger the fire alarm. Setting off the fire alarm _would_ be a felony. Finally, all school records are kept electronically these days. Have I covered all the questions? Now help me move the desk.”

“Cas, I-”

Cas turned, putting himself surprisingly close to Dean’s face. “Look. You’re about to graduate. You’re never going to be in high school again. You have struggled through four years of shit, without any gratitude. Are you seriously going to tell me that you have the guts to punch a guy in the face, repeatedly, but not to douse the office of a man you hate in water. Would it make you feel better if we just hauled buckets back and forth from the bathroom?”

“There’s another sprinkler above the file cabinet in the back corner.”

Cas’ poker face almost slipped as Dean watched the corners of his mouth twitch upward, but then the smile was gone.

“Well, let’s get this one and then we’ll get the other.”

“We’re going to get soaked. In stale moldy water, I might add.”

“You have, like, four changes of clothes at various locations in the school. You’ll manage.” They’d positioned themselves on either side of the desk, fingers clinging to the underside of the desk lip.

“And yourself?”

“I’ve got a change hidden in the bathroom down the hall. Ready? Lift!”

Which, unfortunately, was easier said than done. After a moment of straining, they both relaxed again. The desk hadn’t even creaked, much less slid at all.

“Well, shit,” Cas muttered to himself.

“You had this planned out enough to have the door unlocked somehow, but you didn’t think to test whether or not we could actually reach the sprinkler?”

“Meg, Crowley’s secretary, left the door open for me. She really hates the guy. Like, I’m mildly concerned by how much she hates the guy. Actually, she concerns me in general, most of the time.” He was staring up at the ceiling again, fingertips pushed flat on the top of the wooden desk. “What if we pulled out the drawers?”

Dean shrugged. “Worth a shot at this point.”

They both made their way around to the front of the desk and pulled; without luck. All the drawers were locked closed, reinforcing Dean’s scotch theory. Cas was staring down at the desk like it had personally offended him. Which, Dean thought, it kind of had.

“Here,” he said, climbing up on the desk. “Come up here.”

Cas joined Dean up on the desk. He almost lost his balance sliding on the large paper calendar covering most of the surface, but managed to keep his footing.

“How were you planning on setting them off?”

Cas pulled a lighter out of his jacket pocket, holding it between two fingers. “The glass breaks somewhere around 165 degrees. A direct flame should take about seven seconds to trigger it.”

“Then here, just lean out and I’ll anchor you. If I’m holding onto you, do you think you can reach?”

Now Cas shrugged. “Worth a shot at this point, right?”

They shuffled around for a moment and eventually ended up with Dean straddling Cas’ left leg, which he kept on the desk while his right one hung free. Dean clasped Cas’ left hand tightly, made sure both his feet were on the actual desk rather than the stupid calendar, and slowly let Cas forward, leaning back as counter-weight.

“Ok, stop. I think I can reach it.”

Dean watched as Cas clicked the lighter. It took a couple of tries, but eventually the spark caught, and Cas stretch to touch it to the sprinkler.

Dean probably should have spent the seven seconds thinking about what they were actually doing. Instead, he allowed himself to become acutely aware of Cas’ hand in his own. Their hands were clasped together with their fingers encircling each other’s wrists, Cas’ left and Dean’s right, while Dean’s left hand was clutching Cas’ forearm.

_Why the fuck am I holding his arm? What good is that doing?_

Unfortunately, he should have been focused on what Cas was doing. At the very least, he should have been focusing on where to find a fire extinguisher, because while he was debating whether or not to let go of Cas’ forearm, the room’s ceiling ignited.

Cas jerked his hand back, almost dropping the lighter, at same time that Dean jerked Cas back. Dean took the brunt of Cas’ body weight crashing into his chest by stepping back onto the calendar. His footing slipped out from under him and he fell backwards, letting go of Cas’ hand. His upper back hit the edge of the desk and his head snapped back into free space.

“Shit,” Cas muttered, surprisingly calm for someone who was trying to decide whether to first deal with a fire or his injured conspirator.

“I’m fine,” Dean gasped as he got his breath back. There was a thin line of pain stretching across his shoulder blades from the edge of the desk. “Or, at least, I’m breathing.” Which was when the sprinkler blew, deterring but not stopping the blaze. “We have to get out of here,” he sputtered. “ _Right_ _fucking now_.”

“It’s fine, Dean. It’s a school, the ceiling isn’t going to be very flammable. It’s corkboard. You know what it takes to catch _cork_ on fire?”

“Bullshit.” Dean pointed up to the fire, behind Cas’ line of sight as he stared down at Dean. It was now covering most of the ceiling. Dean rolled over, falling off the desk and onto his hands and knees. He heard Cas jump off the desk and hit the floor, and they both made their way to the door.

“Now what?” Dean shouted. A part of one of the ceiling tiles fell from the ceiling at almost the same moment that the second sprinkler blew. The fallen chunk landed up against the desk, creating a little lean-to and allowing the carpet to ignite.

Dean made a move like he was going to go back into the room, but Cas’ hand on his shoulder stopped him. Within a few more seconds, the mostly soaked carpet smothered the blaze. The ceiling, also partially soaked, had mostly burned itself out, and suddenly the ordeal was over.

Dean and Cas stared at the remains of their mess, soaking wet and still smoking, in awe. The whole event had taken barely a minute.

“I don’t understand,” Cas muttered. “That shouldn’t have been able to happen. It’s _cork_.” Which was when the fire alarm went off. “Oh, _now_ it goes off,” he muttered, but Dean was already flying down the hallway.

He practically jumped down the entire flight of stairs in two leaps, almost killing himself when his wet sneakers lost their traction. He hit the ground hard, and slid forward on hands and knees across the tile. After a few false starts, he got his feet back under him. A few seconds later, he was bursting through the doors into the parking lot. He was only mildly surprised to find that Cas was right behind him. Damn, that kid was fast.

“Front right,” Cas shouted, indicating where his car was. Dean slid to a stop in front of it, wet hands slipping on the door handle.

“Unlock the fucking thing!” he screamed while Cas fumbled with the keys. He felt the lock click in the door and flung it open at the same time that Cas did the same. In just a few more seconds, the car screeched out of the parking lot, heading away from the sirens they could already hear.

“That is one heck of a response time,” Cas said.

“Fuck. You.” Dean’s enamored haze had dissipated, leaving him feeling nothing but pissed and on the verge of a panic attack. “Do you have any idea what the response to a school fire is? Even after school hours? It takes priority over _everything_. Someone could really need help and they’re stuck investigating your shitty idea!”

They drove in silence for a while after that, Dean staring out the window, not really paying attention to where they were going.

“Sorry,” Cas said quietly. Dean rolled his eyes and didn’t respond. They came to a gentle stop at a red light. “Um, where do you want me to take you?”

Dean turned back around to look at Cas, both of them shivering in the cold wet of their clothes. Cas still had his hands on the wheel but he wasn’t looking through the windshield. His eyes were downcast, focused on his lap, and his back was hunched, like he was curling into himself. The entire posture was completely opposite of the carefree cocky kid Dean had been discovering for the last week, which made Dean bite back the scathing reply he’d been considering.

“Just take me to Singer’s, down on 12th. And the light’s green, so you should probably go.” Cas jerked his eyes up to the road and took the turn.

The rest of the short trip was desperately uncomfortable. Dean kept his eyes out the window so he wouldn’t have to think about how broken Cas looked. By the time they pulled up at the diner, he was ready to jump out of the vehicle while it was still moving.

“Dean,” Cas’ quiet voice stopped him. “I really am sorry. I just-” Dean turned involuntarily to look at Cas when he heard the catch in his breath.

_Tell me he is not about to cry._

He met Cas’ eyes, which were dry but completely miserable, and sighed. “Look, Novak. I know, ok. But, I can’t get kicked off the team. And if this is the kind of thing that you do with your spare time, I just can’t.”

“I’d take the blame,” Cas hurried to say. “It was my stupid idea. And my ideas aren’t always that stupid. I just couldn’t think of another way to get your attention!” He bit his lip suddenly, like he regretted finishing that thought.

“Get my attention,” Dean repeated slowly, causing Cas to look back down at his hands folded in his lap. “Well, you certainly did that.” He felt his anger fading and let out a nervous laugh. Cas hadn’t looked up, and his face was back to that unreadable passivity. “And why, Castiel Novak, did you want to get my attention?”

“Fuck,” Cas breathed. Dean continued waiting patiently, forcing himself to keep from smiling. “I thought…you know. ‘Cause I’d been watching you and stuff, but I don’t make friends easily. Shit. Shit, _fuck_!”

Now Dean actually laughed, causing Cas to duck his head lower. Dean gave him a thin smile. “We’ll figure it out. And I’m still pissed at you. Next time you get my attention, do it without a felony.”

He got out of the car and actually managed to make it into the diner without looking back over his shoulder.

***

Dean glanced around the diner before he ducked back behind the counter. It was the typical type of early evening crowd, including a couple of usuals. Rufus, who Dean hadn’t known was back in town, nodded at Dean, and Dean returned the welcome.

“You better be someone I know if you’re in my kitchen,” Bobby’s rough voice greeted him from the back.

“Just me.”

“Dean. Didn’t expect you today. Grab an order. Your father know you’re here?”

“No. But I was already going to be late. At this point, if it becomes an issue, I’ll just say that we played an impromptu game after practice. Mr. Miller is out of town, so I doubt he’ll hear anything to the contrary.”

“We are you soaking wet?”

Dean gave a non-committal shrug. “I’ll grab some of my stuff from upstairs.”

Bobby dug around in his pocket and tossed his keys over. Dean made his way up to the top floor of the diner, the part that was Bobby’s apartment.

A few years ago, Dean would have worried that Bobby himself would rat him out, since he and his dad used to be such great friends. These days, they didn’t talk if they could help it. Dean wasn’t sure if Dad had broken off the friendship because of how much of his free time Dean spent at the diner, or if Bobby had broken it off the first time he noticed the bruises on Dean’s arms. Either way, he could spend the evening here without much repercussion. If it got really bad, he could spend the night.

Once he got back downstairs, he pushed Bobby off the grill and out into the actual diner. Dean had plenty of experience running all aspects of the establishment, but today he wanted to think. Chatting up the regulars and playing nice with the new customers would take too much of his attention.

Over the next few hours, Dean lost himself in the mindless repetition of order after order. The sun set and the crowd turned from friendly, to lonely, to sketch. Dean found himself staring at the grill, waiting for an order that wasn’t just “coffee, black” while Bobby kept an eye on his clientele.

_So? What's the plan, Dean?_

First problem, John. Dean hadn’t exactly advertised his discovery that he like boys just as much as girls, and there was a reason for that. Besides, even when Dean brought girls home, he found himself having to assure his dad that the relationship wasn't serious. Which was a conversation that always left a bad taste in his mouth.

Second problem, baseball. Although, again, that was more about his dad than him. He made time for Sam, and school (sort of), and the diner. So why not do some shuffling and spend some time with Cas? Shit, was he seriously thinking about this?

Third, this list was supposed to talk him out of this.

Fourth, Cas’ eyes. Was is even possible for eyes to be that blue? Maybe the kid wore some sort of contacts that changed his eye color.

Fifth, focus. If he couldn’t get through a list properly, then Cas was going to be too much of a distraction. Plus, his reputation. He’d worked hard on that.

Sixth. No, Cas didn’t wear contacts. He would have noticed. They’d been more than close enough in Crowley’s office. Plus that last look in the car. Where Cas had looked at him like a kicked puppy.

Seventh. Fuck. Fuck, _fuck_ , fuck.

Dean’s degenerating musings were interrupted when Bobby came back into the kitchen. “I’m closing up, so you can shut down and scrape the grill. Also, it’s pretty late, Dean. Your dad isn’t going to buy the baseball game excuse anymore.”

“I know. Can I just stay and help cash out and stuff? At this point, I’m already fucked.”

“Watch your mouth, boy. And get the key out of the back.”

The two of them spent the next 15 minutes or so in silence, sorting through the day's records. Dean, however, was having an uncustomary amount of difficulty focusing on the task.

“Dean!”

“What? Sorry, I wasn’t listening. What was the number again?”

Bobby leaned over and slid the ledger away from Dean and across the table to himself. After a precursory glance the corners of his mouth turned down, and Dean’s stomach dropped.

“I’m guessing I missed more than that last number?”

“Oh, you think?” Dean dropped his eyes to his lap at the coarse tone of voice. “Boy, I do my taxes off this stuff. It has to be right, not just close. And _this_ ,” he picked up the ledger and shook it at Dean. “This ain’t even close.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean answered clearly.

Bobby paused for a moment, and then threw the papers back down on the table. “Don’t ‘sir’ me. Who do you think I am, your father? Now, let’s have it.”

“What?”

“You gonna make me say it out loud? Fine. Let’s _talk_ about where your head has been all day. Since when do you _prefer_ to be back in the kitchen? Bella was even here today. Usually you’re knocking me over to get a chance to talk with her. I’d think you hurt the girl’s feelings, if I thought she actually had any of those.”

Dean picked at his nails, but didn’t answer. Bobby huffed in annoyance and readjusted his position in the chair so he was looking right at Dean.

“If you think I’m gonna spend the effort dragging it out of you, you’re wrong. If you think you’re taking one step out of this diner until I’m satisfied, then you’re also wrong.”

“You might be mad,” Dean practically whispered into the floor.

“You do something illegal?”

Dean snorted. Yes, technically, he had done something illegal, but he hadn’t even been thinking about that. He was actually less concerned about that one. “It’s not that kind of mad at me.”

“Spit it out.”

“There’s this boy.” Dean stopped after that, hoping it would be enough for Bobby to stop asking stupid questions. He figured if Bobby got pissed or awkward he could give a speech about how he was handling it and wouldn’t bring it up again.

Instead, Bobby just contemplated him. There wasn’t a single readable emotion on his face. Then, suddenly, he _grinned_. “Does this mean that I can finally start teasing you about how much attention you give Colby when he comes in here on Saturdays?”

Dean made a weird noise in his throat that was mostly incredulity, with a little embarrassment. “I…shit. I don’t think that Colby is gonna get much of my attention for the foreseeable future.”

That made Bobby’s grin grow wider. “Oh? That serious, huh?”

Dean stood up quickly enough that his chair almost fell over. “Shut up. I’m just…keeping my options open. You know.”

“Bullshit. When are you bringing him in here?”

Dean could now feel an unmistakable blush in his face. The heat made it difficult to think. “Look, if all you’re going to do is tease me about it, then you can finish up here on your own.” He grabbed his coat, dry after the hours in the kitchen. Bobby’s laughter followed him out onto the street.

***

For most of the two-and-a-half mile walk home, Dean let himself hang in the emotional high that Bobby’s response had given him. Yeah, he’d _figured_ Bobby wouldn’t care, based on interactions he’d seen with customers over the years, but it was a relief to know for sure. Especially since he was becoming increasingly sure that Cas wasn’t a bad idea at all.

It wasn’t until he was practically on his front porch that he thought about the fact that he was arriving home past midnight. It was also when he noticed that he didn’t have his backpack with him. So that ruled out getting his homework done that weekend.

Dean opened the door as quietly as possible. A glance around the room revealed his dad in front of the television, a procedural cop show rerun blinking away. A closer look revealed that the man was passed out. Probably drunk, given the sheer number of alcohol containers spread around the room.

Dean made it into the back hall without making a single noise. He slid quietly into his and Sam’s bedroom and carefully pulled the door shut. Sam was dead asleep in his bed, but the nightstand lamp was still on. Like it always was when Dean wasn’t home by the time Sam gave up.

Dean clicked the beaded drawstring. In the dark, he toed his shoes off and fell into his bed. After wriggling out of his jeans he threw them over onto the floor somewhere. Everything else could be dealt with in the morning.

***

For once in his life, Dean was looking forward to Monday. He spent most of Sunday at the diner, silently grateful that Bobby was keeping his mouth shut. Sam started out doing homework in a back booth, but he disappeared with a group of friends in the early afternoon.

There had been an announcement sent out on Sunday regarding the impromptu fire on Friday. An investigation had been launched, but even the official email had been more pissed than anything. Words such as “negligence” and “incompetence” were used, which seemed to indicate that the authorities realized the actual fire part had been an accident. Not that that meant it wasn’t still arson, but there hadn’t been as much outrage as Dean had expected. Possibly because he was beginning to realize that hating Crowley seemed to be a school-wide club, faculty included.

There was the note about an “investigation being launched” and the fact that students should “expect increased security on campus” but there wasn’t any mention of names, suspects, or anything else that concerned Dean. If anything, the email relieved him.

Dean shook the thoughts of Friday out of his head and tried to lose himself in the easy ebb and flow of customer satisfaction, but it didn’t help him from replaying all the different ways that his first conversation with Cas could go the next morning.

Dean winced as he arched his back. The edge of Crowley’s desk had created a dark stripe of a bruise across his shoulder blades that spread outward. It hurt whenever he rolled his shoulders or moved around too much. He’d worried that it was going to mess with his game, but some Ibuprofen had made it manageable. If he didn’t move around too much.

“Are you going to eat something today or not?” Bobby’s voice interrupted him.

Dean looked back at Bobby with a face clearly meant to convey “in this grease hole?”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “You sure do love being here, for someone who watches what he eats so carefully. Come on, is one burger going to kill you?”

Dean turned back to the grill, keeping his eyes on the bubbling grease. He forced himself to think about the slide of it, the oily feeling in his stomach. He imagined swallowing compulsively against the oil. He pretended it was pushing against his stomach from the inside. He thought about the way he could wipe his mouth a hundred times and the heavy, warm, sticky feeling would still cling to his lips.

He waited until the felt like he was going to throw up, and then answered confidently. “Nah, Bobby. Thanks, though.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Bobby was still watching him, silently. He ignored him, continuing to devote his attention to the bubbling non-food that he was cooking. Eventually, Bobby gave up and wandered back to the front.

***

Unfortunately, the constant day-dreaming about the coming Monday made his first encounter with Cas a disappointment. Dean literally ran from Trig to Botany in order to try and catch Cas at the door, but the minutes ticked away without so much as a glimpse of black hair. Eventually Dean had to take a seat or risk being technically late.

He slid into his desk, more annoyed than he probably should have been, and looked up just in time to see Cas power-walk into the room at the exact same time that the bell rang.

Dean tried to catch his eye, biting the insides of his cheeks to hide a grin, but Cas ducked his head and didn’t so much as wave. Which was enough of a downer that Dean also ducked his head down to his desk. He spent the rest of the class bouncing his leg up and down, alternating staring uncomprehendingly at the chalkboard and stealing glances at Cas.

When the bell rang he flew out of his seat, but Cas moved with his usual speed and was already down the hallway before Dean shoved his way out the door.

Gym, for once, worsened his aggravation. Instead of working off his energy, he worked it up. Mr. Wright even pulled him out of the basketball line-up and made him runs laps for “being too aggressive in a just-for-fun game.”

By the time he’d rinsed off and gotten to the lunchroom, hair still damp, his jaw was clenched and his hands were curled into fists. He wasn’t sure whether or not he was allowed to be pissed at this point, but he hadn’t been able to shake that gut-wrenching feeling that started when Cas had ignored him, and that was _not ok_.

He blatantly ignored a greeting from Evan and started stalking an winding pattern through the cafeteria. His persistence was rewarded when he spotted Cas sitting on the edge of one of the benches.

Dean approached the table, and put his hand on the shoulder of the kid that was sitting next to Cas.

“Move,” he ordered. Whether the kid was scared of Dean in general or Dean just had that look in his eye, he scrambled back immediately.

Dean swung one leg over and sat down, straddling the bench and looking right at Cas, who was staring carefully straight ahead, that ever-present poker face hiding everything.

“What the fuck?” Dean threw his hands up in the air. Cas’ eyes flickered to the side, straining to look at Dean, but then he returned his gaze to his lunch.

“I don’t understand.”

“ _You_ don’t understand? How about me? You all out ignored me this morning.”

Cas clenched his jaw and now turned to stare back at Dean. His eyes were narrowed, and the word “dangerous” flashed through Dean’s mind, followed by a brief consideration on the color blue, and all its hues.

“You,” Cas spat, “made yourself clear last Friday. I request as one human being to another, that if you’re going to laugh at me, that you only do so in the confines of privacy.”

That threw Dean for a loop. “I not going to laugh at you.”

“You already did. I said that I didn’t make friends well, and you laughed at me.”

“You said you’d been watching me,” Dean remembered.

His eyes widened at the rage in Cas’ reaction. His top lip pulled back into what was technically a snarl. His voice had been soft but now he spoke clearly, harshly.

“Don’t fuck with me, Dean.”

Dean put both his hands up, reconsidering Cas’ reaction in the Botany classroom.

_Of course I messed it up. Add another chalk tally mark to the list of mistakes that is my life._

He rushed to backtrack.

“No. No, a hundred times no. That wasn’t what I meant. I laughed because I just hadn’t been expecting that particular sentence. I wasn’t fucking with you. And I’m not now. I was just, _really_ pissed at you, and couldn’t deal with it right then.” He smiled feebly as the anger faded away from Cas’ face, just to be replaced by his customary mask. “But I’ve had a whole two days to cool down and stuff. Thought we could give that Botany study group a try.”

“Botany study group,” Cas echoed, without much inflection.

“Yeah. I mean, it can’t be at my house, but we could go to the diner or something. Or the library.” _Shit, where does Sam always study with his friends? Where do people go for that kind of thing?_

“Why don’t we just go back to my house?”

“Sure.” He couldn’t hide his relief that Cas seemed to have accepted his explanation without further conversation. He pulled himself off the bench, suddenly aware of their location, and spoke the next sentence slightly louder than necessary. “I’m holding you to that. I can’t fail this class.”

“Sure. The research department of the University of Georgia just released a study that shows a large correlation between regular two or three person study groups and rising test scores. I’m sure a group will help your grade.”

“Weren’t you trying to tell me earlier that you _weren’t_ a nerd?”

“I’ll pick you up after practice.”

***

Despite their clear conversation, Dean was still relieved to see Cas waiting in the parking lot, car idling, when he got out of practice. This time he’d rushed through his shower afterward and was easily the first one on the team out of the locker room.

Dean slid into the brown four-door car, and threw his backpack on the floor.

“I,” he announced, “got an extension on my paper for Mrs. Williams.”

“So you got a chance to talk to her during 5th. I’m not sure if I envy you or not. You realize that _I_ will have already turned in the paper by Monday, and _you_ will still be working on it. Your triumph is short lived.”

Dean shrugged. “My life is a series of short lived triumphs. I take what I can get.”

Cas looked like he wanted to say something in response, but chose to keep his mouth shut and instead elected to turn on the radio.

“Van Halen?” Dean grinned.

"A compromise. Like the rest of my life.”

Dean turned in his seat so he was facing Cas, the seatbelt twisting to dig into his hip. “Did you just insult Van Halen?”

Cas laughed. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying, that I both enjoy it, and it fits with my image. I can play it off as hipster.”

Dean settled back in his seat. “I have to ask about that. The whole, ‘your image’ thing. I mean, I know I’m hardly one to talk, but my image serves a purpose, which you seemed to have divined nicely. So what’s your purpose?”

Cas shrugged. “Don’t want to rock the boat.”

Dean let the evasion go, settling into the seat with his legs stretched out as far as they could go. He rolled down the window and Cas cranked up the music in response.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst in this one. I made myself sad.

“Mom, this is Dean. He’s in my Botany class.”

“Nice to meet you, Dean. I’m always glad to meet one of Cas’ friends.” Her smile reached all the way to her eyes, blue like Cas’, and Dean found himself smiling back.

“Thanks, Mrs. Novak. But, I’m the one who’s thrilled here. I’m struggling with some of these classes like you wouldn’t believe. I’m really grateful that someone as smart as Cas would be willing to help me out with this stuff.” If there was anything he’d learned while working at the diner, it was that complementing children was the quickest way to get in good with the moms.

Sure enough, Mrs. Novak’s smile grew wider and she glanced at Cas with obvious pride. “We definitely consider ourselves lucky to have such a little angel.”

Dean felt sharp stab of jealousy at the look, but he pushed it away. He could have that look from someone if and when he earned it.

“Jeez, mom,” Cas muttered. “ _Trying_ to embarrass me?” He ducked up the stairs toward what Dean assumed was his bedroom. After a polite wave to Cas’ mother, Dean followed.

***

“So.” Dean said, a sentence all its own.

“Yeah.” Cas answered. He was systematically unpacking his backpack, lining everything up on his perfectly-made bed.

Dean turned a slow circle, realizing that the room itself was pretty much perfect. It wasn’t spotless, but it was organized. The dresser had all of its drawers shut, but there was a stack of improperly folded shirts on top. The carpet was cleanly vacuumed, but the bookshelves had a pile of books in front of it that had obviously been pulled off in a haphazard search for something in particular.

He completed the circle to look back at Cas, who had finished unpacking. Somehow the room matched him. Black pants, exactly the right cut and length, but an oversized pullover sweater.

“So, are we going to study?” Dean asked.

Cas snorted. “Wow. You are _really_ stuck on that.” He put his hands up defensively before Dean could respond. “Yeah, we can do that later. But I kinda thought we should talk or something.” He kicked his shoes off and pushed them under the desk with his foot.

Dean settled onto the floor, instinctively pulling his books out of the backpack. He didn’t stop until the it was completely empty, each subject sorted into its own pile.

Cas joined him on the floor, and Dean noticed that he’d pulled his socks off, too. He raised his eyebrows in surprise when he noticed that Cas had a glass bottle of nail polish clasped in his fingers.

“Really?” he said, before he could stop himself.

Cas rolled his eyes. “It gives me something to do with my hands.” He wiggled his toes in Dean’s direction. “Besides, who doesn’t have something underneath their clothes that they’re hiding?”

Dean looked up sharply at that, but Cas was focused completely on unscrewing the bottle’s top.

“Which of us should start?”

“You lit a room on fire to get my attention. I think you should start.”

A small smile threatened to appear on Cas’ face before it was replaced by an expression of intense focus as he started in with the nail polish.

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “Besides, I’m the more candid of the two of us. Ok, so clearly I screwed up with the fire thing. That was probably a bad idea. At the very least, it was poorly executed. However, as I made clear, I did it to get your attention. So, there it is.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you want to get my attention? Like, what was your purpose there?”

Cas glanced up from his feet, but quickly returned to the task at hand. “You actually want me to say it out loud? Shit, you’re mean. Fine, I kinda like you.”

“Why?”

“Are you fucking with me? Because you punch the guys that mess with you, but you beat to hell the guys that mess with your brother. Because you act like a jerk, but you’re never the one cornering someone alone against the lockers. Because you flirt with girls, but you look at guys out of the corner of your eye. Because you’re always looking over your shoulder like you think something’s about to come up behind you. Because you don’t make eye-contact with people when you’re talking to them. You look around the room instead, and I want to know what you’re looking at.”

“Holy shit. So, you didn’t mean like, you were watching me because I was cute. You meant you were _watching_ me.”

“Is it creepy?” Cas asked the question still staring down at his toes, working through them methodically. The tone in his voice was flat.

“Creepy, as a concept, is remarkably subjective. I’m afraid I can’t answer that question in general. But, I can tell you that _I’m_ not creeped out. Mostly because I could beat the shit out someone as tiny as you if it became necessary.”

“I’m not short! You’re ridiculously tall.”

“Whatever you say. So, my turn now?” Cas didn’t respond either way, working on the other foot now. “Well, I can’t give you the same kind of speech, so I’m going to have to stick with cute.” He laughed to himself. “Yeah, you’re fucking adorable. But at the same time, there’s something underneath there. Someone else. I’d like to meet him. As long as he doesn’t get me convicted of any felonies.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to see a habit in you. You harp on completely irrelevant things.”

“ _A_ habit? A single habit? I think you proved that you’ve noticed more than that.”

“So where do we stand?”

Dean did his best impression of a high-pitched sorority/valley girl voice. “I-dee-kay, Cassie! I, like, like-like you and you, like, like-like me, too.”

“Good enough?” Cas swiped the brush across the last toe and then looked up at Dean.

“Look, it’s all well and good to say things like this, but there’s some stuff you have to know before any of this gets started. I _can’t_ let my dad find out. Ever.”

Cas eyes went wide and he shot a glance at his closed bedroom door. “Hell, no. My parents can’t know either. Did I give the impression that that was what I wanted? We’re study-buddies here. Emphasis on _buddies_. You breathe a word of this to anyone at school or my house, and I will kill you. I get it if there are some people in your life that know, but don’t involve anyone in _my_ life.”

Dean smiled in relief. “Well, ok. Then I’m not opposed to a little fun.” He glanced down at the black-painted toes. “That looks awful.”

Cas’ mouth turned down in frustrated concentration as her surveyed the mess he’d made of his feet. “I don’t have a lot of opportunities to practice. How does anyone do this?”

“Cas?” his mother’s voice floated from down the hallway. Both Dean and Cas scrambled to unorganized their study materials. Flinging open textbooks and notebooks and searching for writing utensils to grasp in their hands as if they’d always been there.

“Yeah, Mom?” Cas tucked his feet under him so he was sitting on his heels.

“Did you guys want something to eat? It’s pretty much dinner time. Your father called, and he’s going to be home late, so I could order a pizza or something?” She opened the door at the end of her sentence, that same smile from before on her face.

“Sounds great,” Cas replied.

“What kind of pizza do you like, Dean?”

“Well, I’m actually on the baseball team, so I shouldn’t really be eating, um, pizza.” Mrs. Novak’ eyes widened and she hurried to apologize.

“Oh, Dean, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that. Um, why don’t I just whip up a soup or something.”

Dean felt his face flush, and he looked down at the floor. “That’s not what I meant at all. You guys go ahead and have pizza, but don’t worry about me. I’ll eat when I get home, no problem.”

“Don’t be silly, Dean. It’s really no trouble. I just have to chop some stuff up and throw it in a pot of water.”

“No, seriously, just order a pizza-” he trailed to a stop when she put her hands up in the Mom way of saying “stop.”

“Dean, I’m making a soup. It means there’ll be something to heat up for Chris when he does get home. Vegetarian or no?”

“Whatever is fine.”

“That sounded like “vegetarian” to me.”

Dean gave in. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

She nodded once and disappeared back down the hallway. Cas rolled his eyes and crawled across the floor on his knees to swing the door back shut.

“You got nail polish on your carpet,” Dean pointed out.

“If they notice I’ll come up with an excuse. Some project that involves black paint or whatever.” He settled back in to look at his toes, which were now even worse. Those that weren’t smudged and dented had carpet fuzz in them.

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re terrible at that?”

“Shut up,” Cas said, but the small smile he allowed made Dean smile back.

***

The rest of the visit went just as well as the beginning. Dean managed to actually eat the soup, and nobody commented on the fact that that he technically just picked out the vegetables with a fork. Mrs. Novak continued to be thrilled that Cas had brought home a friend. Cas kept shooting him glances, and Dean couldn’t figure out if they were I-can’t-believe-you’re-actually-here glances or I’m-imagining-the-things-we’re-going-to-get-up-to-together glances. Either way, he reveled in them.

He should have known it wouldn’t last. He had a long way to go before he deserved to be happy for longer than a few hours at a time.

“You want to tell me why I got a call from the school this afternoon, Dean?” It was his father’s version of a greeting, and Dean seriously considered ducking back out the door and running to get Cas’ attention before he drove too far away. But Sam was here. Dean could see his backpack slumped against a table leg in the kitchen. So he closed the door against the cold night air.

“I don’t know, sir.” _Be about anything except Cas. Or the fire. Don’t be about the fire._

“Give it a try. Seriously, try and guess. Because if you can’t even guess, then we have a much more concerning issue at hand.”

Dean swallowed convulsively and tucked his hands deeper in his jacket pockets so he could ball them into fists without negative consequences. “I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s the problem, Dean. Something you _didn’t_ do.”

“Oh. This is about grades? Is it Botany?”

“The idiot has a brain after all. Yes, it’s about Botany. You want to tell me how I managed give life to a kid so stupid that he can’t even figure out a plant? They don’t do much, Dean. There’s not a lot to figure out.”

“It’s not like that.”

Dean saw the backhand coming before it hit him, but his sudden drop from ecstatic to scared had made him too tired to deal with it. He let the slap take him full in the face, keeping his balance by putting one hand up to steady himself against the wall. He thought he could taste blood in his mouth, but it could also be his imagination. Especially since he knew that John could hit a lot harder.

“Sorry, sir,” he said, his voice huskier than he’d wanted. He glanced at the clock out of the corner of his eye. It was just a little past nine, so Sam was probably still up. Dean sent up a silent prayer that the kid would have the sense to stay in his room and let Dean handle this.

“You’d think I hadn’t spent the last decade and a half raising you, with the way you talk back to me sometimes. If I say you should have been able to learn something, than you _damn well should have learned it_! They’re threatening to take you off the team! This is your senior year, you little shit. They’re not going to take you for college baseball with failing grades, no matter how good you play.”

“Dad, Sam’s gonna hear you.”

John took Dean by the lapel of his coat and shoved him backward. Dean felt his hip collide with the front hall table and the corner dug in hard.

“Sam will hear?” He accented each word by pulling Dean forward and then slamming him back into the wall again. “That’s. Not. Your. Concern.” The corner of the table was now claiming most of Dean’s attention, though it was warring with the pain in his back from where he had landed on the edge of Crowley’s desk. The repeated impact against the wall was worsening the pain from the deep bruising.

_Just as it was getting easy to ignore._

His head wasn’t loving the repeated dull thunk against the sheetrock, either.

“Dean?”

Both John and Dean turned to look at Sam, wearing boxers and wrapped in the polar fleece blanket from his bed.

“Go back to bed, Sammy.”

“Do what your brother said.”

Sam just stood there, holding onto the edges of the blanket around his shoulders, staring at Dean and trying to ask him something with his eyes. Dean wasn’t having it and shook his head once sharply. Not that it helped. Sam didn’t move. Of course not. The kid was getting more and more reckless about these situations, and Dean was anything but thrilled by it.

“Sam, get your butt back in bed,” Dean tried again, putting The Authority in his voice. Sam took a step back, like he was thinking about complying. “Now!” With a final long look, Sam turned and retreated down the hallway.

Dean took the following momentary silence to address his father. “Dad, I know I messed up the test. I’m having trouble, so I started tutoring. There’s this really smart kid and he’s tutoring me in Botany _and_ helping me in English, too. For free. He says he likes the status hanging out with the baseball star will give him.”

John considered Dean for a moment and then slowly let go of his jacket, letting Dean scoot off the desk and get both of his feet back down properly on the floor.

“And it’s helping?”

“Well, we’ve only had the one session, the one I was at today, but I think it’s gonna be really good. I already understand a lot of stuff that I didn’t before. If I’d had him before that first test, I would have done so much better. And I’ll talk to the office and explain it to them. They’re not going to take me off the team, Dad. I won’t let them. I’m going to take care of it.”

“You should have taken care of it before it was a problem.”

“I know, it was really stupid. I’m obviously not smart enough to figure out the subject, but you’d think I’d be smart enough to tell when I need help.”

“Especially by now,” John agreed. “With how much you seem to love fucking up your GPA.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Really, but I’ve got it now. I promise, I’ve got it all taken care off. I’ll keep my grades high enough to graduate. I will.”

John nodded once. “All right, then. You’d better. And you’re grounded for the next week. Just school and baseball. Now get your ass in bed.”

“Yes, sir.” He hurried around into the hallway and almost ran straight into Sam, who was unsubtly stationed just around the corner. Dean silently motioned for him to get back into their room and followed quickly behind him.

“When I say go to bed, then you go to bed,” he whispered violently, after he’d shut the door. “If one of us is going to take the heat, then it’s going to be me. Understand? I can handle it.”

Sam didn’t answer. He had crawled into bed immediately, facing away from Dean.

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, sighing heavily. He couldn’t take it if Sam was going to bed mad at him, too.

“Sam.”

No response.

“Sammy, please.”

Sam shook his head once and stayed rolled over.

_I can’t do this_ , Dean screamed silently. _I can’t, I’m not strong enough. There’s no limit to how many different ways I can fuck up. Every time I think I’ve found my limit, I do something else incredibly stupid. I’m tearing this family apart, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it._

He took a couple of deep breathes and walked over to sit down on Sam’s bed. “Please talk to me.” He leaned farther over to try and get a look at Sam’s face and his eyes widened in alarm. He moved so he had one leg on the bed completely. “Are you crying?”

Sam sat up violently, putting himself right in Dean’s face. “Yes! Ok? What’s your problem?”

_I am the scum of the earth._

“What did I do, Sam? Tell me, and I’ll fix it. I promise.”

“You?” The sharp incredulity saturated Sam’s voice. “What did _you_ do? You didn’t do fucking anything.”

“Hey, watch your mouth. And if I didn’t do anything, then why are you crying?” It wasn’t just a couple of tears either. The kid was full-on ugly crying. Snot, swollen lips, heavy sobs, and all. He was managing to keep it quiet, but that was from years of practice more than anything else.

“I’m mad, Dean. I’m not sure if I’m more mad at me or at Dad, but I can’t even think straight.”

“Look, don’t be mad at, Dad, ok? And why would you ever be mad at you? You…you’re the one who’s going to get free Sam. I mean, you’re a year ahead in school, and you’ve got the perfect GPA and a whole slew of teachers ready to fight each other to be the one to write the recommendation letter for the great Samuel Winchester. Why would you ever be mad at you?”

“Because I called your name!”

“What? When?”

“Last week. When Gordon had me up against the lockers. You weren’t even _there_ and I called your name. It made me think, because why would I shout for you when you weren’t even there? And I realize that it’s so ingrained in me to call you, because that’s just what I always do. Every time I’m scared of Dad, I call you. Every time I might get hurt, I call you. It’s so natural for me to call you that I do it even when you can’t hear me. And you _always_ come. I know what Dad does to you, and you know what Dad does to you, and I still call you, and you still come.”

“Sam,” Dean struggled to get the word out, his throat was closed so tight.

“No! He’s never hit me, Dean. Not once. You’ve never let him. You always take the punch for me. How many times have you carried bruises because I can’t take a hit? Pinned up against and locker and knowing that Gordon would never go as far with me as I’ve seen Dad go with you, and I still couldn’t just take it. What kind of coward does that make me? I don’t even _try_ ; I just use you as a shield!”

Sam was nearly incomprehensible at that point, so stopped talking, instead covering his mouth with his hand in an attempt to smother his sobs. Dean reached forward and pulled Sam into his chest, wrapping his arms around Sam’s thin shoulders and holding so hard he could feel his heartbeat. Sam wrapped his fingers deep in Dean’s shirt and cried himself out.

Eventually, Sam stilled, drawing more regular breaths. When he struggled against Dean’s embrace to sit up, Dean let him.

“I got snot all over your shirt.”

“No one gives a fuck,” Dean whispered.

“Are _you_ crying?”

Dean wiped his face with one hand, and shook his head. It wasn’t a denial, but just a gesture of defeat. He took a shaky breath.

“Look, Sammy. I need you to listen to me really carefully, and I need you to know that I mean it. Ok?” Sam nodded, still sniffling. “Good. Ok, first, it is my job to come when you call. Any time, any place. I don’t care if it’s Dad, or if it’s Gordon, or if it’s some Chihuahua that won’t leave you alone. I don’t care if you’re scared for your life, or if you’re scared of a beating, or if you’re scared you might break a nail. Your job is to call for me, and my job is to come running.”

“But-”

“Shut up. Second, it is not your fault, what happens between me and Dad. Sometimes I screw up. No, don’t you dare contradict me. Sometimes I do stupid stuff. Really stupid stuff, and Dad gets mad. I deal with, because I put that ball in my court. I broke it; I fix it. Now, sometimes Dad gets mad because of stuff that neither of us can control. His boss at the garage was pissed, beer price went up, the Impala is making a weird noise, I don’t care. You know why I deal with those things, too?”

“Because it’s your job?” Sam’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. Dean took him by the arms and shook him once.

“Hey! You think that’s a joke? Yes, it’s my job. I’m the one who has the experience dealing with him. I’m the one who knows what to look out for.”

“I know what to look out for, too,” Sam protested, but he was wilting under Dean’s intensity.

“Third, I have to win at something. Sam, do you know what sentence your little speech just now meant the most to me? It was when you said that Dad never hit you. _I’m_ the one who did that. My life is a series of tally marks against me, but I have never messed that one up. So, I don’t care if you don’t like it. I have to have that. I have to hold on to that. It’s my perfect game.”

He let go of Sam’s arms, letting his own fall to the bed, exhausted at his own outburst.

“I love you,” Sam whispered, and Dean breathed in sharply.

“I-” His hands clenched reflexively, and he tried again. “I love you more.” He stood up after that and crossed the room to the dresser, keeping his back to his little brother. “Wow, Sam, you sure you don’t need a glass of water or something? You’ve lost enough fluids into my shirt that I’m worried.” He stripped down and, by the time he turned back around, Sam was rolling his eyes.

“It was an improvement on that particular item of clothing.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

***

On Tuesday morning, Dean tried to keep himself focused on the all the positive possibilities of the day, but it turned out to be a wasted effort. He’d barely made it to his locker before he heard the announcement on the overhead.

“Dean Winchester, please report to the office. Dean Winchester, please report to the office.”

Dean froze with his hand on his padlock, in the middle of twisting the combination. He allowed himself to consider making a run for it, but figured that it wouldn’t help anyone.

“What’d you do, Winchester?” a faceless voice from the crowd called out to him. “Put another kid in the hospital?”

Dean ignored whoever it was and made his way down to the faculty rooms and carefully gave his name to the secretary in Crowley’s front office. The plate in front of her read “Meg Masters”. He thought he remembered Cas saying something about her, but his current situation made it difficult to care what it was.

His feeble attempts at self-distraction were interrupted when the door to Crowley’s office was thrown open.

“Dean, my denim-wrapped nightmare,” he drawled. “Come in.”

Dean and Cas shuffled into the room. Dean was impressed with how quickly everything had been cleaned up. Then again, there hadn’t been that much actual damage. A few ceiling tiles and then the water damage. And then that burned spot on the carpet, which _was_ still there; the only remaining evidence that anything untoward had occurred in the room.

“Have a seat, Dean,” Crowley sighed as he lowered himself into his own chair. A new one.

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, so polite. Which is just unfortunate, when you think about it.”

“Sir?”

“I’m referring to why you’re here, Winchester. Now, I’m sure you’ll deny it, so let’s just cut to the chase. I know you’re the little ingrate who set my office on fire, and I want you to know that I know. I have a witness, too, so don’t even think about denying it.”

Which begged the question of why he was here when Cas was not. The possibility that Cas had betrayed him made his heart sink, but he forced the thought out of his head. Either it was true, in which case he’d deal with it later, or it wasn’t. He needed to focus on the moment at hand.

“Mr. Crowley, I’m not sure where you’re getting that information. Being on the team here is important to me, and I wouldn’t jeopardize it. Even if I did decide to do something completely idiotic, I would never go as far as arson. Especially against yourself. That just seems to be asking for more trouble than it’s worth.”

Crowley seemed to think it over, considering Dean carefully. “Dean, I hate to have to take disciplinary action against you, I really do.” Dean somehow doubted it. “However, you have a history of violent outbursts at this school. Some of them physical.”

“I do what’s necessary.”

“And then there’s the matter of this witness.”

“Who I think I deserve to know. Who is accusing me of doing something so incredibly stupid?”

Dean was afraid for a moment that Crowley wasn’t going to tell him. However, after a moment of consideration, he said, “Gordon Walker.”

_Well, shit. So much for my idea that he would never do something to involve authority figures. Now he’s just cheating. I also know for a fact that’d he’d already left school before I even started practice, so he’s also lying,_

Dean knew he should probably be concerned, but he was more overwhelmed with the fact that Cas had not been involved in getting him into trouble. At least, no more so than he already had been.

“What you’re saying, sir, is that this is a game of my word against his?”

“Gordon has no reason to lie.”

Dean almost scoffed at that, but then remembered that he’d never been officially implicated in the fight last week. Crowley was looking at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for Dean to admit to it. To admit to anything.

Dean swore in his head. This was a catch-22. If he didn’t admit to the fight, they had enough circumstantial evidence to open a case against him. If he did admit to the fight, he’d definitely be in trouble for that _and_ he still might be up for arson.

He was trying to decide what to do when the door burst open behind him. Dean twisted around in his seat to see Cas standing there, a little out of breath.

“Mr. Novak,” Crowley snapped. “I do not recall you being invited to this soirée.”

“Technically, no, I was not.” Now that he was actually standing in the room, he had lost the energy with which he had entered. Dean rolled his eyes. Idiot had run into a situation half-cocked, again.

“So leave,” Crowley ordered.

“He’s my alibi,” Dean interjected. “I went to study with him at Bobby’s diner. I’m not doing really well in Botany, and I know I have to pass it to graduate this year. I didn’t do well at all on the last test. Cas, Castiel, he agreed to tutor me. I left with him right after practice. It’s not just my word against Gordon’s. It’s my word and his.”

“Yeah, I picked him up right after. He wouldn’t have had time to get to your office and back, much less set a fire. Besides, wouldn’t those sprinklers have gone off? Wouldn’t he have been soaking wet when I saw him? I feel sure I would have remembered that.”

Crowley looked like he was going to have an aneurism right there.

_Wow. I knew the guy didn’t like me. I’m hardly the school saint, but he’s really out to get me on this one._

“Listen, Dean, I had an extensive discussion with Walker, and I honestly don’t believe you. Either of you. Even the little picture-of-obedience behind you isn’t going to help your case. Yeah, I know about you, Novak. You play your cards closer to your chest than this one here, but I know. You’re worse than he is, but you just don’t get caught.”

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it again. He had nothing with which to respond to this. If Crowley was going to believe Gordon then he was screwed. He could play the “school’s baseball star” card, but he doubted it was going to get him out of arson.

“You know,” Cas’ voice interrupted his growing inner-panic. “I heard there was a lot of damage. Especially to the ceiling. That’s kind of weird, don’t you think, _sir_.” The sarcasm on “sir” was so obvious a kindergartener could have caught it.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, _sir_ , that someone should probably look into that. I mean, schools are supposed to be made of non-flammable materials. More so than most other structures, wouldn’t you say?”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to open and close his mouth without saying anything.

“Cas?” Dean murmured, unsure where this was going.

“It’d be interesting to talk to whomever it was who is responsible for this mess. They’d probably have a lot of information to offer the investigation about how quickly the fire spread. I didn’t think _cork_ ,” he paused to look directly at Crowley, “burned at all. Not like that, anyway.”

Crowley cleared his throat and crossed his legs in what Dean could only determine was a nervous gesture.

“Of course,” Cas continued. “That individual probably wouldn’t volunteer that information unless they had to. Wouldn’t want to implicate themselves.”

“No, no they wouldn’t,” Crowley agreed. “Which is interesting, considering the conversation Dean and I were just having. I thought you ought to know, Dean, that that accusation had been made against you. Don’t worry too much about it. I know better than to believe every rumor I hear floating around the school. Why don’t you two get back to your classes before the bell rings? Wouldn’t want to be late. Might get in trouble.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed his backpack off the floor and hauled ass out of the room, through Meg’s atrium, and out into the hallway. When he felt they were a safe distance away, he turned and whispered furiously to Cas.

“What was that? You called him off like a trained pet.”

“I’ve been wondering about that ceiling for almost a week now. The only reason I could imagine that it caught fire like that was that it wasn’t actually made of the right materials. Which made me wonder why anyone would build with sub-code materials. Especially in a school. The first answer that came to mind was money.”

“Money?”

“Sure. If there was a cheaper material that could be used, anyone with access and authority could order the cheaper material on the ‘down low’ and then pocket the difference. I didn’t know for _sure_ that it was Crowley, but it seemed like a good bet. And it was my only card to play at the time.” He shrugged at Dean. “I mean, it worked.”

“You’re insane.”

“Smart though.”

“I don’t know about that. You just put yourself on Crowley’s radar. He’s going to take that personally, and look at the hell that breaks loose when that happens. He took the Botany class personally.”

“Relax, Dean. It was a risk, but it was worth it. You were not going to take the fall for that.”

“What were you going to do if the threat hadn’t panned out? Like, if it wasn’t Crowley or you were wrong about the flammability levels of ceilings?”

“I was going to take the fall, obviously. I already told you, I’m not going to let you suffer the consequences of my stupidity. You wouldn’t have been there at all if I hadn’t decided using an open flame was a better idea than just covering every surface in the room with styrofoam cups full of canola oil.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“First crazy, now idiotic. You have any other adjectives you want to throw at me?”

Dean glanced around to confirm the hallway was empty and responded, “cute.” When that earned a brief smile and what Dean was pretty sure was a blush he continued. “Brilliant. Brave. Helpful. _Short_.”

“Am not!” Cas snapped back, but he was laughing now.

***

Dean refused Cas’ offer to hang out that afternoon after school. “Grounded” was a loose term in his family, but he didn’t want to push his luck. Sam, fortunately, was at a parentally-approved sleepover thing with some of his friends, so that front was covered. Which was a relief, since it was always thin ice around Dad after an argument. Just because Dean hoped that last night had settled the matter, didn’t mean it would be so.

When he opened the door to his house, he couldn’t decide if he’d made the right choice coming home or not. The entire room smelled like alcohol, and John was sitting on the couch, clutching the only picture of Mom that the house contained.

Dean hovered in the doorway as he had the night before. Debating. In or out?

“I used to make her so proud,” John slurred from the couch. Dean sighed. So it was going to be one of those days. He let the door shut and crossed the room.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately. Let’s get you to bed.”

“You know I was gonna be famous? Buy her anything she wanted.” John contemplated the picture with a 1000-yard-stare. “Not that she wasn’t happy in this shitty little house. She was always happy. Nothin’ could keep her sad for long.”

_This would._

“You haf to make it in, Dean. There’s got to be a college team somewhere that could use you.”

Dean ducked down and got his father’s arm around his shoulders. If this one-sided conversation was going to turn out to be about him, then he’d like to end it as soon as possible.

“Otherwise, you’re gonna end up like your old man. You wanna be this, Dean? Is this what you wanna look like?”

Dean managed to get them through the hallway doorway and into the actual bedroom.

“Course, you’ll still probably end up like this. This is where all the Winchesters ever end up. My father probably died old and alone somewhere. I tore my cuff and lost everything. Why wouldn’t you be an embarrassment to your own life? Stand up to meet your legacy, son!”

Dean flopped him down onto the bed and scrambled out from under his weight. He crossed back to the door as quickly as possible, but couldn’t avoid hearing the last bit.

“Not Sam, though. He’ll be something. I got something right.”

Dean slammed the door and was halfway down the driveway before he realized he’d left the house. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone, debated, and put it back in his pocket. After a few more seconds, he dug it back out and dialed.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Cas. Listen, I know you just left here and stuff, but I got the go ahead from my Dad to hang today. All official and everything. You mind making a U-turn and coming back for me?”

***

They ended up at the diner, and Dean never was sure whose idea it had been. He hadn’t exactly wanted to put Cas and Bobby in the same room together quite so soon, but it was kind of inevitable. He spent too much time here to put effort into keeping Cas away. Not if they were serious about this.

As soon as they were through the doors, Dean ducked behind the counter. “So, what’ll it be, Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Handsome?”

Cas rolled his eyes and perched himself on one of the barstools.

“Is that you, Dean?” Bobby called from the kitchen.

“Yeah, don’t worry about us.” He leaned over the counter. “So? Place an order. What do you want?”

“Sadly, I think the only thing back there I want isn’t on the menu.” Now it was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Nothing? Coffee? Soda? Waffles?”

“Fine.” Cas leaned back and pointed his finger imperiously at Dean like he was making a decree. “Subject! Bring your king waffles!”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I think I’m adorable. And if you’re not going to eat anything, then I’m good. Now come back over here and join me on this side of the counter.”

“We can talk like this. Besides, it keeps Bobby from having to run back and forth between the kitchen and the front. He only has help on the weekends.”

“He has you, apparently.”

Dean shrugged. “I can’t come in regularly. I just help out. It’s actually a stress reliever for me.”

“Does he pay you?”

“I’m not an employee. But, I don’t mind at all, because my schedule isn’t flexible enough to have set hours. And he hides cash in my jacket pockets and backpack more often than he should. We don’t really talk about it. Besides, it’s like trade school. I’ve learned a lot about running a business and taxes and stuff.”

Cas looked like he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. “So, let’s fall back on some clichés. What’s your favorite color?”

“Black. Duh. Yours?”

“Green. Like, bright emerald green.”

“Why?”

Cas let a smile play on his lips. “No reason. Next question: cat or dog?”

“Um, neither.”

“Cheater. All right, favorite book character?”

“James.”

“James from what? Last name? Anything?”

“It’s a kids’ book ok? It’s from ‘James and Giant Peach’ by Dahl. It’s about this kid who lives with his aunts and they’re really horrid.”

“I’m familiar with the book.” Cas picked at the counter top, not meeting Dean’s eye. “He gets away, right? From his aunts?”

“Yeah he climbs in this peach and rolls away with some magical bugs. Squashes his aunts in the process.”

“Birthday?”

“What?”

“When’s your birthday?”

“January 24th.”

Cas looked up in surprise. “That’s Thursday. Any plans?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, being grounded. I don’t think Dad realizes that it’s my birthday. Sam will probably do something, though.”

“You’re grounded? As in, you shouldn’t be out here right now?”

“Grounded in my family is just an excuse to say no to any requests. There isn’t actual follow-up more than half the time. My dad doesn’t care that I’m out here right now.”

“I’m not judging. I was proud of you. Look at you, all grown up and sneaking out of the house. Telling lies, and taking boys to suspicious diners.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up.” The door’s bell rang as a family of four filed in. “Hold on. It’s your turn, so think about your top 5 favorite movies of all time, but you only get 5. Give ‘em to me when I get back.”

He moved away from the counter to take care of the family, catching Cas’ small smile as he walked away. One thing was for sure. Blue was rapidly making its way to “favorite color” on Dean’s list.

***

“Dad? The guys are putting together a mock game with Termon High tonight. I know I’m grounded, but they really need me.”

His dad looked up from the stove where he was making omelets. He’d actually been great the last couple of days, since Dean had found him on the couch. He’d been making meals, getting groceries, and hadn’t restocked the fridge with alcohol. Dean was praying it would last for weeks.

“What? The kids there want you to beat them twice?” he grinned. “They can’t just wait until their turn in the actual season?”

“Guess not. Maybe they’re hoping it’ll be good practice for them.”

“Well, knock ‘em flat. Sure you can go. I don’t see why not. Just don’t do anything stupid, ok? A little school rivalry gets the blood pumping, but I don’t want to hear about the police having to break up any fights.”

“No problem,” Dean laughed. “I’ll be sure all fights stay police-free.”

“That’s the spirit. Now where’s your brother. Is he still at Brady’s?”

“Oh, sorry, I meant to tell you. He and Brady have this project they’re working on. And you know Sam. He’s really going above and beyond on the whole thing. He said Mr. Harris will drop him off once they’re done, but he’s going to be back later than usual. He estimated ten. He seems really excited about this project.”

John sighed. “Yeah, he really does get worked up about that stuff. But I think it’s good for him. If he can get himself a scholarship then maybe he’ll make it out of this.”

“Here’s hoping.”

“You, too, you know. You’ve been putting a lot of effort into this semester. Once those games start, we’ll get your letters out to the coaches. We’ll get you a scholarship, too.” He scrapped the omelet off onto the nearby plate and turned to look at Dean. “You know I’m proud of you, right? Of how much effort you put into this?”

Dean swallowed heavily and looked down at the ground. “I’m trying, Dad.”

“I know you are. I know I push you. I just…I don’t want you to end up here. Injured and no good to anyone. You can do what I couldn’t. And I’m not going to let you sit around and mess that up.”

“I won’t,” Dean said eagerly. “I really won’t.”

“Good. Then eat your dinner and get yourself over to that game. Show them what it means to go up against a Winchester.”

***

Dean felt a little bad about lying to his Dad, especially after a speech like that. But he’d gone with the story that he felt most sure would get him out of the house. Plus, not to be a whiny bitch, but there hadn’t been one mention of the fact that it was his birthday. So he was treating himself.

He walked down a block to where Cas had agreed to park, and opened the car door.

“Hey now,” Cas said. “I’m not looking for any ‘companionship’ or whatever you street-walkers are calling it these days. It’s not my birthday or anything, so just move along.”

“You’re an ass,” Dean laughed as he slid into the car.

“Oh, what’s that I hear? It’s _your_ birthday? Well, let’s see what we can do then.” He peeled away from the curb with enough force to throw Dean against the passenger side door.

“Not this again. Are you going to tell me what we’re doing?”

“Do I ever? Stop asking.”

Dean resolved himself to the mystery and kicked his shoes off so he could put his feet up on the dash. He twisted around and turned on the radio, letting the sound fill the car.

For the twenty minutes it took to drive to their location, Dean felt weightless. The overwhelming satisfaction of irresponsibility made him smile out the window and up at the dark sky. He leaned his forehead against the glass and let himself think of nothing. And if “nothing” turned out to be “Cas” more often than not, who was keeping track?

When they finally pulled to a stop, Dean was loath to move. He almost asked Cas to take a loop around and come back. Or, hell, to just keep driving until the sun came up. But gas prices were always on the rise, so that wasn’t a fair request. Besides, he doubted Cas would comply. He was remarkably stubborn about what he wanted.

Dean struggled into a sitting position, having slid down so far down that his lower back was on the seat.

“Where are we?”

“That old church south of Madison. The one in the abandoned area.”

Dean looked around. He hadn’t been down here since they’d closed the strip mall. The area had really gone to shit. It was barely eight at night, and he couldn’t see another person, much less any lights.

“Did they shut everything down?”

“Around here? Yeah. After that strip mall got shut up, that was pretty much the end. There were some issues with squatting, but there’s not even that anymore. Guess it’s too far out from anything that’s actually open. Then, after Syno, or whatever that company is called, bought the area, everyone cleared out. They’re going to bulldoze the entire square mile around May this year.”

He got out of the car, and Dean followed him. It was amazing how much darker it was out here away from the lights. How many more stars he could see.

“You coming?” Cas’ voice mocked him.

“Are we breaking into a church? Isn’t that a little on the nose?”

“I’ve done it plenty of times before, so there isn’t going to be a need for any breaking, per se. I’ve got it all cleared.”

“You come here by yourself?”

“Sure. That’s one of the many handy things about having a reputation for wanting to be alone. After the first few years of your parents checking on you or bugging you to make friends, you get to disappear to “the library” or “for a walk” without anyone thinking too much about it. I’ve got the freedom to disappear for hours, as long as I come up with a story, because I don’t have any friends for my parents to check up with.”

“That’s…depressing?”

Cas laughed. “Not really. I do enjoy being alone. And that was a bit of an exaggeration. I do have some friends. They just also like being alone. We meet up sometimes, but mostly we just talk online.”

They’d reached the front of the church and Cas moved along the wall to one of the stained glass windows. He hooked his fingers around the edges, scrabbling at the putty holding the window in place. After a few seconds, the whole thing shifted. Dean threw up his hands as if to catch it and Cas huffed.

“Give me a little credit, Winchester. I have done this before, remember?”

Keeping one hand pushing at the edges of the window, he put the other spread out in the middle. He then rotated the entire window around its center, slowly moving it until it lowered like a drawbridge turned ninety degrees. He carefully repositioned his hands until they both gripped the now-outer edge of the glass and pulled the entire window out of the wall.

“Nice.”

“Trial and error.”

Cas scrambled up into the hole in the wall. Dean only hesitated a moment after hearing the landing on the other side, but then he followed. It took him a bit more maneuvering than it had taken Cas, but he managed to tuck himself through.

The room itself was a lot more empty than he’d expected. All of the furniture had been pulled out and the room echoed with empty space. The stone floor bled into the stone wall, which bled into the stone ceiling. Dust and some random pews, presumably too damaged to be worth relocating, were the only interruptions in the vast expanse.

“Seems a shame, doesn’t it? To tear this down?”

Dean turned to locate Cas’ voice in the moonlight and saw him more than halfway across the room. He started picking his way behind.

“I guess. I mean, it’s beautiful, but no one’s using it, right?”

“I guess not. I’m sure they’ll turn it into something more useful. I hear big companies are really good at that. Their priorities are always the good of the populace and the social community. The economy and middle class are the first concern.” He disappeared into an archway and Dean hurried to catch up.

“It’s the way of the world.” He almost fell flat on his face when he came through the hallway and stubbed his toes against hard stone. He cursed quietly to himself as he felt along the floor with his hands. They’d left the windows behind and the area was completely dark.

“It’s stairs,” Cas’ voice informed him from above.

“Thanks for telling me that earlier.” He began his stumbling ascent, one hand on the wall. At first he had a lot of trouble with it, but after he discovered that it was a spiral staircase everything got easier. Eventually the darkness dissipated and he found himself on the second floor. Third floor? That had been a lot of steps.

Cas was standing impatiently next to a ladder that he had pulled down from the ceiling. “Keep up,” he shot at Dean, before scrambling up the ladder in a few seconds.

“Are you part _cat_?” When there wasn’t a response he made his way up the ladder. At least there was light to help him.

As he emerged through the floor at the top, he felt the sharp bite of January wind and gasped in the darkness.

“Are we on the roof?”

“Obviously. Best view in town.”

Dean had to agree with that. He was staring out over the empty expanse that they had just driven through. Beyond that was the city itself, far enough away that its noise was silenced, but close enough that the lights created a dull glow. Downtown stretched up, cutting its skyline into the stars.

“It’s beautiful, Cas. But it’s also cold. And windy.”

“Climb down over here,” Cas directed. “Step over the railing and then down onto that alcove. After that, there’s a flat expanse of roof. We’ll be in the lee of the wind.”

After a brief consideration of his chances at life should he fall, Dean followed Cas’ instructions. When he got to the bottom, he looked up and watched Cas do the same.

“Forget part cat,” he teased. “You’re like a squirrel. What on earth possessed you to do this the first time?”

“It was there,” Cas answered as he made the last little jump down to join Dean. “It was there and empty.”

The moonlight was just bright enough to frame Cas’ face against the background dark. Which was totally not fair, because now all Dean could do was watch Cas’ lips. They were moving around each word with precise enunciation. It was hard to make out color in the dark, but he knew Cas’ face by this time. At least, he knew it enough to imagine.

He suddenly realized that Cas had been saying something and had now stopped talking, and he was supposed to be paying attention. Again, unfair. How was he supposed to be paying attention when he was having to expend so much energy to not touching those lips?

“Sorry, I have no idea what you just said.”

Dean expected Cas to roll his eyes. He expected a snarky comment and a put down. He did not expect Cas to slid his tongue slowly between his lips and then slowly back again. Those lips, now wet, turned up in a careful smirk.

“Like what you see?” they asked.

Dean tried to answer. He really did. But mostly he just kept staring.

Cas put him out of his misery with a single step forward, putting himself face to face with Dean. “You know,” he whispered. “I might be up for a little ‘companionship’ after all tonight.”

For all his bravado, the actual kiss was gentle. At least, the first one was. Cas leaned in slowly, hands at his sides, giving Dean time to back away. Dean let it happen, and soft lips met soft lips. Chaste and quick. Which was so not what Dean was looking for.

As soon as Cas pulled away, Dean surged forward to claim him back. Now the kiss was harder, and Dean could feel his own teeth pushing against the inside of his lower lip.

Cas put his hand up on the back of Dean’s neck, drawing him in, and Dean came with the pull. Cas was biting at his lip now, demanding entrance, and Dean let him. He opened his mouth, losing himself in the intensity. He stepped back, feeling his back hit the outside wall of the church. Which made him remember that he was standing on a roof, in the dark, almost four stories in the air. He pulled out of the kiss to look down at his footing.

“Really?” Cas chided. “You think I’d drag you all the way up here to let you fall off a roof? I know where you’re standing, so cut it out and get back to work.”

Dean opened his mouth, probably to make some sort of snappy comeback, but found his mouth was full of Cas’. So he gave up, and let Cas lead. He could feel the rough slide of the wall against his bruised back, but the pain suddenly didn’t matter. It was just one more sensation, warring with Cas’ touch. One hand was on the back of his neck, holding him in place, and the other was on his hip, fingers wrapped in his belt loop. The whole height of Cas was pushed up against him and Cas’ tongue drew out and then pushed back into his mouth. Even though Cas had to look up to get at Dean’s face, there was no question of who was in charge. Dean couldn’t even remember all the tricks he’d thought he’d picked up over the years, much less apply them.

When Cas eventually pulled away, Dean felt the cold absence of him against his front and made a small keening noise.

“Nope,” Cas laughed. “You might not need to breath, but I need a minute. Besides, everything in moderation right?”

“What kind of fucked up philosophy is that? Come back.”

“You pay me the highest compliments. You’re far from an unpleasant experience, yourself.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Even in the dark, Dean could tell that Cas hadn’t liked that sentence. His shoulders rolled back in disapproval and, shit, what did that say about Dean that he could already tell what body postures meant what?

“Don’t say things like that.” Cas moved back and positioned himself against Dean again. “Don’t deflect me, especially when I’m giving you a compliment. I don’t go to the effort of saying things when they’re not true.”

“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it, ok? I was just messing around.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I’m _not_ messing around. I genuinely enjoyed that. Did you?”

“Well, yeah. Obviously.”

“That’s important to me. It’s important to me that you’re enjoying yourself.” He kissed up at Dean again, soft lips gentle against soft lips. “I love the feel of you. I love the green of your eyes and the roughness of your hands. Don’t make it a joke.”

“Ok, baby” Dean breathed, desperate for Cas to stop talking and get back to kissing. He drew back, surprised at his own slip-of-the tongue.

“Oh, I think I like that,” Cas whispered against him. He leaned up and sucked at Dean’s lower lip. But after a moment, he pulled away again. He looked out over the edge of the flat space of the roof.

“Happy birthday, by the way.”

Which was when Dean realized that he was inexplicably happy. Even standing more than two feet away from Cas, he was content. Just the two of them in the dark.

***

Dean managed to get himself back to his house in enough time to keep his story believable. His dad greeted him absentmindedly from the couch, and Dean slipped back into his room. He debated doing homework for a while, but eventually just decided to stare at the ceiling. He got lost enough in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the front door open and close.

“Hey,” Sam interrupted him. Dean sat up quickly. “Dad said you had a game tonight. Did you win or lose?”

Dean smiled to himself. “Oh, I think I definitely won.”

“Yeah? Happy birthday to you then. Here.” He tossed a small box over to land on the bed next to Dean.

Dean reached over and pulled the top off. Looking down at the gift, he twisted around and put his feet on the floor.

“Sam, how much did this cost?”

“Don’t do that. I wanted to do this, so don’t cheapen it.”

_I can’t even do this right, can I? Couldn’t take a compliment, can’t take a gift._

He pulled the thick silver ring off of the cotton and held it between two fingers. Noticing the catch of the light, he tilted the ring and looked around the inside of it. Etched into the inner surface, in thin nearly-invisible lines, ran a line of clear text.

“Gather me up when I fall apart,” Dean read out loud. Then he clenched his teeth together to keep himself from speaking.

“So,” Sam said, climbing into bed. “I was over at the Harris’ tonight, working on that project with Brady.”

“Yeah?” Dean slipped the ring on his right index finger, where it clung, perfectly tight, against his skin.

“Yeah. The thing is, Evan was there. For the whole time actually. And he didn’t say anything about a game with a rival school. In fact, he actually talking about the fact that he was glad your first game is later in the year than usual, which would give him time to get ahead on schoolwork. It actually seemed like the last thing he’d want to do was get involved in some time-wasting school-rivalry-induced testosterone-fest.”

Dean stared down at the ring, his hand curled loosely into a fist.

“It’s not like I’m going to tell Dad. Were you out with a girl?”

”Something like that.” Dean lay back down on the bed, feeling the silver as he ran his thumb back and forth across it. He stared at the dim light on the ceiling and prayed Sam would pick up on his evasion.

“Was it a boy?”

Even though Sam had whispered that last sentence, Dean’s eyes flew up to the door to make sure that his father wasn’t standing there.

“Why would you say that?” he spat at Sam, and then forced himself to calm down when Sam drew back into his bed in fear. When he spoke again, he forced himself to be more gentle “Is there _anyone_ who doesn’t know?”

Sam huffed quietly as he clicked the bedside lamp off, leaving the room in darkness. “No one that matters.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have been informed that baseball season doesn’t start in January. Not sure why I thought it did, but it’s too late now. Deal with it.  
> Also, I want you all to know that I purposefully gave myself a hangover (the first one in my life, btw) for research purposes for this chapter. I refused to drink water or eat carbs while drinking, and that was THE WORST IDEA I’VE EVER HAD. I’m not kidding guys. Don’t follow my example.

Dean had to hand it to Cas. Over the next several months the two of them played a beautifully constructed game. While Dean had his limits, Cas seemed to be comfortable with everything, creating the most intricate lies for his parents that Dean had ever heard. And when that didn’t work, he just snuck out.

Not that Cas’ parents were oblivious. They could tell that Cas was behaving differently, and they thought they knew where the blame should go. Dean found himself less and less welcome at Cas’ house. It wasn’t the first time he’d been branded a bad influence, but it bothered him that Mrs. Novak no longer smiled at him like she used to.

And it wasn’t like they weren’t actually studying when they went to Cas’ house. In fact, both their grades were improving, as they taught each other through the material.

“What was question seventeen?” Dean gasped as they left their second exam of the year in Botany. “It said ‘what are the different types of trees?’ and I just panicked. That’s such an unfair question, because there are so many. It’s horrible to require that much information for just a couple points. I put, oak, pine, alder, beech, fruit, ash, and I don’t even know. Do you think she’ll give partial credit?”

“Dean. Not to rain on your panic party, but I think she was looking for deciduous versus evergreen.”

Dean came to a halt and closed his eyes.

“She went over that way too many times, and you still didn’t get that that’s what she was talking about? I mean, yeah, it was a terribly worded question, but she beat that particular topic to death. It was the easiest question on the whole thing.”

Dean shook his head and continued walking down the hall again. “That is not fair. Which fits with the rest of the class, so it shouldn’t surprise me.”

“I’m sure you did fine. I felt pretty confident about mine, and you were doing really well on the study materials we were going over. Speaking of which, see you after class?”

“Sure. You going to tell me what we’re doing?”

“Wear something you can move around in. Preferably with long pants.”

“Novak. It’s February. Why would I wear anything but long pants?”

***

It turned out that when Cas said “long pants,” Dean should have inferred “don’t ditch your coat halfway through the hike,” judging by the poison ivy rash crawling up his left arm. It wasn’t a bad reaction, all things considered, but it got a lot of questions he had to deflect from his teammates.

Not that any of them seemed eager to press the issue. It was actually kind of ironic. At the beginning of the semester, Dean would have sworn that none of his teammates actually gave a shit about him, unless it was regarding his current batting average. However, his repeated refusals to “hang out” were getting him some dirty looks. He was surprised to realize that some of them, especially Evan and Justin, had actually considered themselves his friends and were now feeling ditched.

Which was funny, since he knew for a fact that both Justin and Evan had seen the bruises on his body, had at least heard of the time he’d logged in the ER, and knew that sometimes Dean didn’t go home at night. It was specifically funny that they had never brought up any of these facts in conversation. Funny being a word here meaning sickening.

However, he did have a cover to maintain, so he made an effort to spend some after-practice time with the team. Specifically, with Justin Miller, since Mr. Miller was the closest thing to a friend that John had. It would be risky to let anything get back to his dad, especially now that the games had started.

As a whole, the beginning of the season had really started to mess with Dean’s head. Yes there was the added stress, especially since his dad seemed to actually be making an effort to come to his games this year. But, as long as he didn’t screw up, nothing seemed to change there. As a team, they were doing pretty well. But then, that’s why his dad had chosen this school.

The reason the beginning of the season had been so unsettling was two-fold. First, he was coming face to face with the fact that he was just a better-than-average hitter. Yeah he was the star of his team, and he was the deciding factor in his team’s repeated wins, but he wasn’t reaching the numbers that dropped jaws. His dad had made him sit down and write multiple letters to multiple college coaches, explaining exactly why he’d be a good addition to the team, but Dean was beginning to doubt that they’d get him anywhere. He was good, but he wasn’t the kind of good that drew college baseball coaches to make the journey to a high school, regardless of said high school’s reputation.

Second, and more obvious, the games were eating up a lot of the time he’d resolved to be spending with Cas. Practices took longer and took more out of him. Games filled his weekends, and after-game parties ran late into the night. He and Cas tried to make time to keep up their activities, but it was more difficult than they’d thought it would be.

The added stress in their developing relationship caused their fair share of fights, but the little bicker sessions started over stupid things and ended a few hours later.

There was, however, one exception of a fight. It took place in early March, and could have ruined them. Fortunately, it ended up being an eye-opener for them both.

After a particularly close call of a game, everyone ended up back at Daniel’s house. He had said something about his parents being out of town, which seemed too good to be true, and Dean had been swept along in the inevitable eagerness.

What hadn’t been mentioned was the extensively-stocked liquor cabinet within aforementioned house. Dean was sure that Daniel was going to regret this decision, given that he was pretty sure this was several hundred dollars’ worth of alcohol. Either Daniel was a horrible judge of monetary value, or he really was just that desperate to be considered part of the team.

Either way, Dean grabbed a particularly fancy looking unopened bottle of scotch and made his way to the back to the back of the room. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig right from the bottle. He choked down an urge to cough the liquid back out, because he’d been right, and it was definitely expensive. This wasn’t the kind of stuff that deserved to be drunk out of a bottle, so he made a precursory search for a glass. However, he gave up almost immediately. It was just that kind of night.

Unfortunately, Dean’s extensive experience with alcohol was limited to that which he’d snuck from his dad’s fridge. It didn’t really compare to the ridiculously high proof that he began the night with. Sometime after the scotch and tequila but before the vodka shots, he found time to wonder where the scotch bottle had gone in the first place. He was sure that he hadn’t finished the thing himself, because, you know, _still standing_ , but he didn’t remember putting it down. He became mildly relieved when he saw it clutched in Evan’s hand, and then concerned because he couldn’t remember why the bottle’s location mattered, and then relieved again for no apparent reason.

Which was how the rest of his night went. At least the part that he remembered. He _did_ remember the morning. In fact, he doubted that he would ever forget the next morning, considering it played on two of his worst fears. It’s always awkward to wake up hung over in someone else’s house. It’s also always awkward to see your friend getting yelled at by their parents. It’s something else entirely to do both at the same time.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean groaned, before he was fully conscious.

“What did you say to me, young man?”

Dean managed to make himself open his eyes when he heard that. The voice reeked of Authority, and Dean had had enough painful encounters with that kind of voice to know better than to keep up the attitude.

“Sorry, sir,” he apologized, even though still wasn’t sure to whom he was talking. “I didn’t realize where I was. Thought I was yelling at my brother.”

Which was concerning in and of itself. Waking up not in his own house could be because of a lot of things and very few of the options on the list were good ones.

_If my head will stop pounding, then maybe I’ll actually be able to figure this out._

Trying to get a better vantage on the situation he rolled over, feeling carpet scratch on his face. Unfortunately, even though he was pretty sure he’d stopped rolling at that point, the room itself seemed like it was still going. The realization that he was going to be sick gave him just enough time to get up on his hands and knees, which was far from enough time to actually get anywhere that vomiting might be considered acceptable.

He didn’t feel much better after he finished heaving up everything his stomach had ever known onto the beige carpet. Especially since there were a lot more people yelling in his general vicinity. However, it did clear his head a little and he recalled the previous night’s activities.

_Shit. I will donate a kidney if it means Dad never hears about this._

Something in Daniel’s father’s voice made him doubt it. At least he hoped that was Daniel’s father. He looked up at the figure who was helping him to his feet, trying to discern if maybe he was actually looking at a cop.

Once he’d satisfied himself that that was indeed Mr. Carter, Dean tried to grin disarmingly. He didn’t have a great track record of successfully charming adults while he was hung over, but he thought it might be worth a shot.

Mr. Carter ignored the attempt completely, and returned to yelling at his son. Dean took the opportunity to look around. At least he didn’t seem to be the only one had passed out on the floor, and he certainly wasn’t the only one struggling to stay on his feet. He did seem to be the only one who had thrown up on the actual carpet, but a quick glance at Daniel seemed to indicate that might change.

Dean didn’t remember much after that, until he was standing at the end of the Carter’s driveway. Which he thought was a little unfair. It wasn’t like anyone still there was in any shape to drive. He kneeled down on the sidewalk and tried to hide his face from the sun.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but eventually he realized someone was shouting his name. He risked looking up into the bright morning again and saw Mr. Miller was shouting at him from his car. Justin was curled up in the passenger seat and seemed just about as thrilled with the entire morning as Dean was.

“What?” Dean managed to shout, immediately clenching his jaw to both alleviate his headache and to keep himself from vomiting.

“Do you need a ride?” Mr. Miller shouted again.

Dean glanced around and noticed that he was the only one from the team still in front of the Carter’s house. He automatically shook his head in Mr. Miller’s general direction. He fumbled for his phone and managed to wave it up in front of him.

“Dad’s coming,” he said, and Mr. Miller nodded. He probably said something else, but Dean had already put his head back in the grass.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he resolved to actually make a phone call. He only hesitated for a moment over the number, and then he was listening to Cas’ too-chipper voice on the other end.

“Early for you, isn’t it? How’d the post-game party go last night?”

Dean moaned into the phone.

“Dean?”

“I need you to come get me. I’m at the Carter’s house, and I swear that if you make more noise than necessary I will kill you. When I can actually stand again.”

“That good, huh? What’s the address?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

“So ask someone.”

Dean huffed into the phone. “Not gonna happen. Figure it out.” He hung up and put his face back in the ground. He wondered briefly if anyone inside the house was keeping an eye on him, but he didn’t care enough to allow his attention to stay there.

For the next fifteen to twenty minutes, he hovered in the non-space between being awake and being asleep. Cas’ familiar hand on his back brought him back to the present, and he struggled to his feet.

“Are you going to throw up in my car?” Dean shook his head and climbed into the passenger seat. He continued to bounce back and forth between sleeping and not-sleeping until Cas urged him out of the car again. Which was when he realized that he needed to vomit.

He managed to get himself out of the car before he actually threw up. It was mostly dry-heaving, but it was enough that he ended up back on his hands and knees.

“Cas?”

Dean swore in his head at the sound of Mrs. Novak’s voice. He could feel tears pricking the backs of his eyes, and he just wanted to curl up and sleep. He did not need this moment to be filled with an adult calling him a degenerate and a failure. It was a truth he had to face up to all the other moments of his life. It didn’t seem fair to deal with it like this.

“He had a bad night, Mom. And got thrown out of the house he was in. I don’t think they realized how much alcohol he’d had. In fact, I don’t think _Dean_ realized how much alcohol he’d had. He really should get some water in him and lie back down.”

“So take him home.”

There was about ten second of silence after that, and Dean tried to say something, even though he had no idea what that something would end up being. Thankfully, Cas spoke first.

“I’m not going to do that, Mom.”

“Excuse me?”

“He can’t go home like this.”

“Facing the music is a necessary consequence of making life-decisions like this.”

“Mom! For the love of everything listen to me. First, this is not a life decision. This was a poor decision, and we’ve all made some stupid decision in our lives. Yeah, including you. Second, I don’t think the consequences he’d face at his house are the same kind that I’d face here.”

“Meaning what, Castiel?” Her voice sounded too tired, and Dean cursed himself quietly. Not for anything in particular, just himself in general.

“Meaning there’s a reason that he went out and got himself shit-faced. There’s a reason he called me instead of his dad. Just let me get him into the house, ok? He’s not going home like that. Not when he can’t defend himself.”

Another ten second pause.

“Fine. Get him in the house.”

Dean vaguely remembered being forced to drink water and take some sort of medication after that, and then he was waking up sprawled in Cas’ bed. He felt significantly better. Not spectacular, but better. Sadly, his physical improvement was replaced with compounded mental distress.

_How the fuck am I supposed to go down those stairs and face Cas, much less his mother?_

A glance at the clock confirmed that it was getting closer to late afternoon that early afternoon. That decided him and he struggled to his feet. Cas’ dad only worked till four on Sundays, and Dean was definitely going to be out of the house before that happened. Mrs. Novak might one day forgive him. Mr. Novak would throw him out on his ass and decree Dean was never to return.

He stumbled his way out of the room and carefully made his way down the stairs, coming to a stop in front of the kitchen. Cas was sitting at the kitchen table, working on homework, and his mom was standing at the counter, working on cooking who-knows-what.

“Hey,” he rasped. Two sets of eyes turned to look at him in silence. “I fucked up.” It occurred to him after the fact that swearing should probably be kept to a minimum.

“Yeah, you did.” He was surprised to realize the sentence had come from Cas. It hurt more than it would have coming from Mrs. Novak. Honestly, he’d been expecting it from her. He’d expected that Cas would think the whole situation was mildly amusing.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’ll head out. Thanks for letting me crash here.” He made the effort to look up at Mrs. Novak, who was looking back at him with pursed lips. “I mean that, ma’am. You didn’t have to let me into your house, and you did it anyway. Even though I’d clearly made some stupid decisions. Even though you think I’m a bad influence on your son. Honestly, I’m really grateful for the chance to hang out with him. Maybe one day it’ll stop me from being such a fuck up.”

_Yeah, I really need to work on the swearing thing._

He tried to make his way to the front door, but Mrs. Novak was suddenly in front of him. Well, he knew where Cas got his quiet speed.

“Cas, drive your friend home,” she said over his shoulder. “And you, Dean Winchester, are welcome here at any time. Now, if you ever show up drunk again, I will give you a piece of my mind, at the top of my lungs, right in your face. But, come here when you need to.”

Dean could feel the weight of tears filling his eyes and he tilted his head up to look at the ceiling, trying to keep gravity from pulling the drops over the edge. “Shit,” he breathed quietly.

He felt Cas clap him on the shoulder from behind and let himself be steered out the door toward the car.

“You sure you’re good to go home? I could take you to the diner.”

“Hell, no.” He’d have to deal with his dad sooner or later. There was no way the story wasn’t getting back there eventually. Bobby, on the other hand, might very well never find out, and Dean wasn’t going to ruin his chances at that.

They both climbed into the car in silence. Dean looked out the window, trying to keep himself from looking at Cas.

“You know I’m pissed right? I mean, did you specifically set apart this time to permanently humiliate yourself, or did it just happen?”

“It would have been hard to miss.” He’d meant the sentence to sound bitter, but it just came out exhausted. “Honestly, I thought you’d approve of the whole thing. I’m expanding my horizons.”

“Achieving a new level of wasted is not the kind of thing I’m talking about. Break the rules that constrain who you are. Give the ones that keep you out of the emergency room a wide berth.”

Dean snorted derisively, and Cas wrenched the steering wheel to the right, pulling the car over to the side of the road. Dean fell against his his seatbelt as he was jerked to the left and then forward, when Cas threw on the brakes. Dean had to take several deep breathes to remind himself that he was not going to throw up again.

“I’m not fucking around, Dean,” Cas snarled. “Do you have any idea how close I got to taking you to the ER this morning? I picked you up and _noon_ and you were still _drunk_. You weren’t just hung over, you were drunk. And knowing your reputation for alcohol tolerance, I don’t even want to think about how much you must have had last night. Can you even remember _what_ you drank, much less how much?”

Dean didn’t remember most of the night and pressed his lips together. Eventually Cas sighed into the silence and pulled the car back onto the road. When they arrived at Dean’s house, he got out of the car without saying anything. Cas was driving away before Dean had even reached the front door.

***

Dean’s arrival home was pretty much what he had expected. By the time everything was finished Sam was screaming and threatening to call the cops, Dean could barely breath, and John had threatened everybody’s life at least twice, including his own.

Sam made some fuss about the ER, but Dean had heard enough about needing medical attention for one day. Besides, even if he did have a cracked rib, it wasn’t like they did anything about those these days anymore. Wrapping them caused more problems than it solved. Either way, he’d have to pop some Ibuprofen and just deal with it.

That Monday, Dean and Cas avidly avoided each other. It was a bit of a wasted effort, since they were both so busy out-ignoring each other that neither was able to understand that the other was doing the same.

After school, Dean purposefully hung around in the locker room after practice, hoping Cas was out there waiting. However, when he left the school to find an empty parking lot, he panicked. Had Cas waited and then left? Or had he never been there at all? Dean contemplated all possible options on the walk home, and he didn’t come up with any he liked.

Fortunately, events fell more in their favor on Tuesday. Dean was still content to try and ignore Cas, but Cas apparently decided to be the more mature of the two. He cornered Dean as he was leaving with Sam.

“Are we going to talk about this?”

“Not if I can help it.” Dean tried to push past Cas, but Cas stepped back in the way. Worse, Sam had stopped walking and was standing on the sidewalk, staring back and forth between the two.

“You’re not being reasonable.”

“Oh, you got me. I’m being unreasonable. Let me just mend the error of my ways and bow down before the great logic that is Castiel Novak.”

“Stop being an asshole.”

“Oh no! I’m an asshole, too! Is there no hope for my great failure?”

Cas looked at Sam for help, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me. This is his version of dealing with issues.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“Shut up yourself. I’m going to Rick’s house. He asked me to help him with his Life Science worksheet so I might as well do it now. You guys need to deal with this. Or whatever it is that you’re doing.”

“Sam,” Dean warned. He reached out to try and grab his brother, but Sam spun around and skipped backward a few steps.

“Nope,” he snapped, and then fled down the sidewalk.

Dean had a moment where he had to decide whether or not he was going to make a fool of himself, chasing his little brother down the sidewalk of the school, in full view of everyone. By the time he’d thought through all the possible ramifications, he was standing alone next to Cas.

“Just get in my car, Dean.”

Dean gave up and climbed into the passenger side. He clutched his backpack between his knees, gripping the straps tightly enough that the tips of his fingers turned purple. When he first got into the car, he refused to lean back, sitting ramrod straight. He soon regretted the decision, but he couldn’t lean back now, because that would indicate he was comfortable being in Cas’ car.

Cas rolled his eyes at Dean’s stubbornness. “So, am I going to have to start this?”

“What do you want me to say? You’re the one who made me get in this car in the first place. If you insist on driving me around, whatever, but you can’t make me say anything.”

“I was looking for an apology.”

“Believe me, I noticed. Just take me to Bobby’s.”

Cas pursed his lips and slammed on his brakes, throwing Dean forward against the belt and then back so he was actually sitting normally in the chair. He made a strangled cry of pain, gasping in through his mouth several times.

“Better?” Cas mocked.

Dean twisted his body away so he could stare out the window without seeing Cas. He tried to let his mind wander, but the pain in his ribs and back kept bringing him back to the present.

“Stop,” Cas said quietly, which was when Dean noticed that he was repeatedly hitting his head against the door window. He’d developed a dull ache there, but it didn’t really compete with the rest of his body. Pushing himself through practice yesterday had probably been a mistake, but what could he have said to Henriksen?

Maybe he should just take Sam and run. He’d been taking care of the family for years now anyway. He’d get a job in a diner and rent a crappy mobile home. Sam would be down for it, even if it meant leaving the school. He could just hold on through the semester and then the two of them would disappear.

Dean allowed himself to dwell on the fantasy, but once it had played itself out, he purposefully pushed it back down again. He couldn’t do that to Dad. Not when he’d already lost everything. Plus, he’d earned this beating, getting wasted like that. Sam had thrown a fit, but Sam always threw a fit. The kid didn’t understand how much Dean could have fucked up that night. What if the Carters had called the police instead? Dean hadn’t been able to stand properly, much less run. With Crowley already out to get him, a run in with the police would have been the end of his baseball career right there, kneeling in his own vomit in a stranger’s house.

As he considered all the possible ramifications, all accented by the steady pain in his ribs, a clear traitorous thought spoke up. _If you deserved that beat down from Dad, then you most definitely deserve to have Cas pissed at you._

Dean rolled the idea around in his mind, trying to avoid thinking it through. He managed to keep it on the outskirts of his mind until Cas pulled into the diner.

After pulling into a parking space with more force than necessary, Cas threw his own door open at the same time Dean did. Dean tried to get to the diner door before Cas could get in front of him, but he’d known he’d lose that race before he’d even started.

“We’re doing this dance again?” Dean sneered down at Cas’ face. “Just let me go inside. Or were you fishing for a ‘thank you for the ride’, to go along with that apology you wanted?”

Cas shoved him hard, and Dean stepped back in silence, focusing on the pain Cas’ handprints had left on his chest. Cas followed him into the step and shoved him again. Dean stepped back again, still refusing to make eye contact. After a few more moments of strained silence, Cas turned away violently, leaving Dean’s path to the door open. He took it.

Dean brushed past and slammed into the diner. He blatantly ignored the roomful of customers, even though he was pretty sure someone had said his name in greeting. He tried to duck under the counter, but hit his head hard on the underside. The world really was trying to put him flat on his face today.

“Keys,” he demanded at Bobby, hand outstretched. Bobby regarded him for a moment, and Bobby seemed to sense Dean was near his edge.

“Don’t break anything,” he warned, tossing them gently through the air.

Dean caught them one-handed and made for the stairs. He later learned that Bobby had been watching Cas outside the front window. Cas had paced back and forth in front of his car, gotten in and then out, paced some more, and then finally made his way into the diner.

“Bobby?” he asked, and Bobby nodded in response.

“Hey, I was looking for Dean.”

“I figured that out. You gonna tell me why?”

“I need to talk to him about a non-stellar decision he made on Saturday night. Which is a conversation he is reluctant to have.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Would you please tell me where he is? Or tell him I’m here?”

“No.”

“Um, excuse me?”

Bobby sighed heavily and leaned forward onto the counter so he could get right in Cas’ face. “I said no. I have been working too hard to protect that boy for too many years. I have helped put him back together in more ways than one, more times than I can count. I have stood, figuratively and metaphorically, in between him and danger so long, that it’s habit by now. So no, I’m not going to let you upstairs.”

“I’m not going to-”

“I know. In fact, I think you’re probably a good kid. I think Dean should talk to you. But it’s my job to keep this place a safe house for him. He’ll come down eventually. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. You can wait if you want, but I suggest that you just be on your way. He’ll calm down, and he’ll come back. It’s the way he works.”

“I’m worried about him.”

“And you think I’m not?” Bobby snapped loudly enough that the nearby customers turned their heads. “What makes you think I’d trust you, some wanna be choir boy, with _my_ boy when he wants to be alone? Get out. You can come back when Dean says so.”

Cas gritted his teeth in anger. “I’m not big on following the rules,” he spat out, and then turned around and headed straight out the door. Bobby watched him pull out of the parking space and head around out of sight.

What he didn’t see was Cas driving all the way around to the back of the building and pulling to a stop. Dean got the rest of the story from Cas who apparently climbed the outside of the building all the way up. Later that week, Dean went out to look at the wall, trying to figure out how Cas had done it. He saw a few handholds, and he could see where Cas had balanced as he’d opened the window, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to copy the maneuvers.

Of course, the first Dean knew of it was when he turned around and saw Cas standing in shock next to the open window.

After leaving Bobby downstairs, Dean had paced around the apartment for a while. He’d also considered throwing some stuff around, but Bobby’s only instructions had been not to break anything. So that was off the table.

In a desperate rage, he pulled his own shirt off over his head, standing in front of the full length mirror to survey the handiwork. The bruises were lighter than they’d been last night. For the most part anyway, since the area over his probably-fractured rib was still dark. His abdomen and front chest were a faint yellow color, since Dad usually stayed away from there.

With a shallow breath, he turned around and craned over his shoulder. This was where the real damage was. The background color was dark purple, but there were patternless crisscrossing welts, some white and some red, depending on whether or not the belt had broken skin. Dean breathed in again, mesmerized by ripple of fluctuating hues across his back.

“Shit,” he mumbled. Maybe he should just get in the shower or something. Take a nice long hot one and never come out.

“Hell, no,” breathed Cas from behind him, and Dean spun around in shock, wincing at the sudden movement.

Cas was standing next to the window, hands splayed wide open with fingers each far apart from each other. As if he were trying to fling out his hands in an effort to stop something, but didn’t have the energy to lift his arms to complete the gesture.

Dean stood just as still, his reflection immobile behind him. He fumbled for an excuse in his head, picking up and dismissing each of his stand-bys.

He knew that in reality Cas wasn’t going to fall for a lie. He was too smart. But he was hoping that Cas would at least let it go. That Dean could lie through his teeth and Cas would let him, because it was too dangerous to abandon the status quo.

“Had to run back after practice yesterday to drop off a paper. Slipped down the stairs like an idiot. It looks worse than it is.”

Cas didn’t bother responding to the bullshit. Instead, he stepped forward into the room. He traveled half the distance between the two of them before he stuttered to a stop.

“I did this,” he whispered.

Dean allowed the confusion to show on his face. “Um, pretty sure you didn’t. I’m not the best at remember things, but I remember this. You weren’t there.”

“I dropped you off. At your house. I left you there, because I was pissed. I left you there even though I knew your dad…I didn’t know it was like _this_. Why didn’t you make me take you to the diner? I would have done it.”

Dean had begun shaking his head violently halfway through the speech. “Not a chance. I had to go home eventually.” He was mostly relieved that the two of them had given up on the half-assed lie. “I didn’t want Bobby to know how much I’d fucked up.”

“I _left_ you there. I took you home and left you standing on the porch of a house you were afraid of. I _knew_ you were afraid.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cas,” Dean snapped. “You didn’t take me straight home. You let me sleep it off on your bed in your own house. You took me home and argued with your mother when you didn’t have to. This is just the way of the world, ok? I’m grateful that you let me face the music with a clear head.”

Cas took four strides toward Dean, like he was going to shove him again, as he had in the parking lot. He stopped just a little short, arms out in front of him. Instead of pushing Dean back against the mirror, he gently trailed his fingers down Dean’s chest.

“Look,” Dean sighed. “It was going to happen anyway. As you made abundantly clear, I had fucked up. I needed a little sense knocked into me.”

“This is not sense!” Cas screamed, making up for his inability to push at Dean physically with an unusual increase in volume.

Dean stayed still, fighting the urge to cower back in the face of violent anger. He’d never seen Cas like this. Trying to placate him, Dean whispered, “You were right to be mad at me. I had made a really stupid decision, and I’m sorry that I was childish about you being pissed.”

Cas was shaking his head again, fingers still gently adhered to Dean’s chest. “Don’t do that to me. I was mad, but I didn’t tell you why. I was just mad. I wanted you to come downstairs and be all sorry and apologize to me like it was some sort of power trip. I wanted you to feel bad about what you did to _me_ more than I wanted you to feel bad about the danger you had put yourself in. In the end...” he trailed off as he continued running his fingers down Dean. He moved below the chest, past the stomach, and stopped only when his fingertips caught on the jean’s waistband. He jerked his hand back suddenly.

Dean took a shaky breath. “Look, can we just drop it? I’m sorry I did stupid, you’re sorry for something that I’m not sure I understand. Everybody’s sorry.” He reached past Cas and bent over to pick his shirt up off the floor, stiffly pulling it over his head.

“You just want us to ignore this?”

“ _All_ of it.” Dean looked him right in the eye as he said it. “I’ve got barely over half a semester left. I can deal with it, ok?”

“Yeah but Sam-”

Dean snorted. “No. You think I’d still be here if Sam ever once ended up like this? No, Sam’s actually a good kid. He doesn’t get into the shit I get into, so he doesn’t have to deal with the consequences.”

“These aren’t consequences, Dean. This is abuse.”

“Don’t! Ok? Just don’t. You’re not there. Leave it alone, or I will get pissed again. And this time I won’t get over it. Do you know what happens if we even get taken away? There’s nowhere but foster homes for Sam to go to. They’ll split us up, because there’s no way a jobless screw-up like me gets custody.”

Cas considered Dean, who was now refusing to make eye contact. “Fine. But only for now. Don’t think this isn’t going to come up again. No, don’t shake your head at me. You don’t want to talk about it now, then I’ll respect that. But don’t ever think I’m the one who dropped this. If you ever want to talk about it, or just bounce ideas off me, then you feel free to bring it up. Hell, if you want to call me in the middle of the night to pick you and Sam up, then you do it. I won’t ask questions.”

Dean closed his eyes and made his way across the room toward the stairs. “I’ll keep it in mind.” He had no intention of doing anything of the sort, and he prayed the subject would never have to be brought up again. Still, he didn’t say so out loud.

“I should probably go out the window,” Cas said from behind him.

“Why? Speaking of which, why did you come _in_ through the window in the first place?”

“Bobby made it clear that this was a safe haven for you, and that I was not to disturb you.”

“So you thought you’d climb in the window?”

Cas at least had the decency to look ashamed. He scuffed at the floor with one shoe. “Yeah. I’m not good at doing what I’m told? I’m sure you’ve noticed. In fact, I suck at it. And he called me a choir boy and told me that he didn’t trust me, and that was just the end of it.”

“He’s pretty protective, and he’s used to my dad. Dad usually needs a lot more convincing.” He looked back at the window. “More importantly, Dad doesn’t have the body frame or the dexterity to pull off what you did.”

“Are you going to tell?”

“No. Get your ass back out the window and go home. I’ll see you tomorrow after practice.”

***

When Dean got home that night, Sam was still awake. “So?” he asked, eagerly leaning forward on his bed.

“So what?”

“Did you guys make out? Oops, I mean, did you guys make up?”

“How about you shut up and get put your head on your pillow. Do it or I’ll make you do it.” But he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

Sam kept grinning, too. “That sounds like a yes. When do I get to meet him?”

Dean grabbed the pillow off his own bed and smacked it into Sam’s face. It wasn’t a hard hit, and Sam grabbed at it, wrapping both his arms around it.

“Give it back, shorty. You’ll meet him when I want you to meet him.”

Sam let go suddenly, and Dean stumbled backward and lost his footing. He hit the ground hard, and let out a small cry of pain against the bruising. Both of them froze, listening keenly into the silence of the house to try and discern if Dad had heard.

When nothing happened, Sam climbed out of bed and down onto the floor. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“No biggie.” He winced as he climbed to his feet. “But in all seriousness, you should probably meet him. Things seem to be getting to that point.” Not that he had any idea what “that point” was.

“Really?”

Dean rolled his eyes. It was amazing how excited such a little thing could make his little brother.

***

Fortunately, weeks like that were few and far between. When the results for the midterms came back Dean almost ran home, paper clutched in his hand like he was in kindergarten.

“Dad!” he shouted, as soon as he was in the door.

“I’m guessing good news?” John asked. It sounded sarcastic, but there was an amused twist to his lips that made Dean grin wider. He handed over the exam, with a bright purple 88% scrawled at the top. “Second highest in the class.”

“Oh? Who made highest?”

“Castiel, the kid who’s tutoring me. He got a 94%, which might have made me jealous, if I didn’t realize that that’s probably fair.”

“Yeah, I guess he deserves that.” John had wandered into the kitchen, still holding the exam, and Dean followed him.

“Where you going with that? I’m gonna put it up on the wall or something in my room. Maybe I’ll even get a bulletin board, just for it.”

“I don’t think so,” John responded, picking at a magnet on the fridge that hadn’t been moved in years. Once he finally got it off, he stuck the test to the fridge door. He had to add a few more magnets to make it stay, but eventually he stepped back in pride.

“Dad,” Dean began, but John put up his hand to stop him.

“Look, it’s about time, right? Maybe if you start believing how proud I can be of you, you’ll keep up the work. Speaking of which, why don’t you take the Impala to that mock-game you and the team are setting up Tuesday?”

“You mean it?”

Dean wasn’t even trying to hide his enthusiasm. He was practically bleeding excitement. John stuck his hands deep in his front jean pockets, as if he were ashamed of how easy it was to make Dean smile. But instead of saying anything, he just nodded a couple of times, and then disappeared into his room.

***

Cas had acted mildly confused when Dean had called him, insisting that he be the one to drive this time, but Dean wasn’t broaching arguments. This had been a long time coming, and he was going to be the one calling the shots tonight. He was the one keeping secrets this time.

When he pulled up to Cas’ house a few minutes later, the suspense had been worth it. Cas’ grin stretched across his whole face, which was always a victory.

“Hey there stranger,” Dean called softly out the passenger window. “I’m looking for a little ‘companionship’ tonight. You interested?”

“Jerk,” Cas said as he climbed in beside Dean. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

“I don’t think so,” Dean laughed. “I might not have the creativity that you have, but I can keep a secret with the best of them. Your turn to wait.” He turned to move the car into gear, but suddenly found his mouth pressed against Cas’.

It was a hasty, but desperate kiss. Dean found himself pushed back against the driver’s side window with Cas practically on top of him. Cas had one knee up on the center console and was supporting most of his weight on Dean’s chest.

Dean had just recovered from the surprise enough to be giving as good as he was getting, when Cas suddenly pulled back again. Dean panted, looking at Cas, who was now sitting in his own seat, leaning over the console.

“What was that?”

“I’m just considering my options. I bet, if I really tried, I could get you to tell me what we’re doing tonight. If I put in some effort.”

“You are a filthy cheater. I never pulled a stunt like that. I always let you have your stupid secrets.”

“First of all, you love my secrets. Second, maybe I wouldn’t be adverse to you putting in some effort to figure them out once in a while. Not that it would do you any good.” He reached back and buckled himself in, still smirking at Dean.

***

Cas didn’t comment when Dean pulled off the highway onto a questionable side road. He continued to keep his silence when it deteriorated from side road to dirt road. It wasn’t until Dean took a careful left turn onto a mostly-grass road that Cas finally spoke up.

“Are you going to kill me and dump the body?”

“Not so fun being in the dark is it? And please, if I wanted to kill you, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to do that over the last several months.”

“I could return to my original method of persuasion. It didn’t work that first time, but I suppose I could put a bit more effort into it.”

“Don’t you dare. I’m trying to drive here. In the dark and on a road that doesn’t really exist. Hang on thirty more seconds, for the love of everything.”

Cas learned across the center consul to breath into Dean’s neck. “Fine. I’m counting to thirty and then I’m getting to work.” He touched his lips to Dean’s neck, promising to make good on his threat.

It turned out that he didn’t need to. Before the car had really fallen back into silence, the Impala emerged from the tall grass onto a flat expanse of packed dirt. Dean pushed the car up into park, flipped off the headlights, and turned off the car.

“So?” Cas asked into the dark.

“So get out. We can’t drive any further. We’ll get the car stuck. We’re walking the rest of the way.”

Dean climbed out of the car and walked around to the back. Cas echoed the movement, joining him just as Dean shut the trunk of the car again. He had a green bag slung over one shoulder.

“Ready for a hike in the dark?”

“I’m not sure this is on the safe side my current decision-making paradigm.”

Dean clicked a flashlight on, directly into Cas’ face. “How about now? If I let the baby boy have a flashlight will he keep up?”

Cas reached out for the light, but Dean jerked it away. “I don’t think so. Now keep up.”

It didn’t turn out to be much of a hike. Barely a minute later, Cas’ feet sunk deeper into the ground than he’d been expecting, and he made a noise of surprise.

“Yep, watch out for the sand. We’re at the beginning of the beach.” He swept the beam out in front of them, and it reflected back from still waters.

“We’re on a beach?” laughed Cas. “Doesn’t that cross the line over into cliché?”

“Excuse me, O Experienced One. I didn’t realize that every date we go on has to be something like a dark abandoned church roof in the middle of nowhere. We can just head back to the car. I’ll take the summer picnic and the kite flying off of my list as well.”

“No, no, sorry. It’s fine. I always wanted to hang out on a beach in the dark in early March. I mean, it’s practically spring, right? It’s only _mostly_ cold these days.”

“Amateur. Watch this.” He handed Cas the flashlight and began making his way around the beach, dragging bits of wood. Cas watched for a while, but began to have too much fun turning off the light whenever Dean particularly needed it. Eventually, Dean revoked the power and took the flashlight himself, holding it in his mouth.

Cas watched the light bobbing up and down for a while, but began to grow bored. “So where it this anyway? This isn’t some private beach where someone’s going to find us and call the police, is it?”

Dean snorted and said something Cas couldn’t understand.

“I don’t speak flashlight. You’re going to have to take that thing out of your mouth.”

Dean sighed heavily, but didn’t comply. He continued to move up and down the beach. Just when Cas was starting to wonder how likely he was to get hypothermia if he went for a swim, Dean called him over.

“You’re back on flashlight duty. Don’t abuse it.”

Cas aimed the light down in front of where Dean was kneeling. “Wow, Dean. I figured you were going for campfire, but that’s like a fortress of driftwood. How long is that going to burn?”

“Pretty late into the night. Why? Were you thinking of heading back earlier than that?”

“Nope. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

They both fell silent while Dean struggled with the matches he’d pulled out of the duffel. It didn’t take long, and Cas had to admit to himself that Dean obviously knew what he was doing. It just a few minutes, the blaze caught.

“Done this often?”

“Jealous?” They both laughed, and then Dean continued. “Dad used to take Sam and me down here all the time. Learned a lot about camping. And to answer your earlier question, no. It’s not a private beach, but it’s not popular either. Never really seen anyone else around, unless they come down from the other side of the lake. They’d have to go through the water, by boat or something. Not likely, at this time of night.”

The flames had spread up most of the wood, lighting and warming the beach. Dean turned to Cas, smug and seeking approval. Cas provided, meeting Dean in a kiss as forceful as the one in the car had been.

“Thank you,” Cas said during a moment they took the breath. “Thank you for taking me here, where you have memories of your family. Thank you for trusting me with this place and those thoughts.”

“It’s time to make new memories.”

Cas moved in to kiss at Dean again, but Dean stepped back. “Hey now. We can get to that, but right now I’m looking to play out some other clichés.

He dug around in the bag he’s grabbed from the trunk and then tossed a blanket at Cas. “Spread it out,” he ordered. “Unless you were planning on getting sand in crevasses you didn’t even know you had.”

Cas obliged, using rocks to secure the corners down. Dean returned to the bag and pulled out some packages that Cas couldn’t make out.

“What do you want to do first? S’mores or fireworks?”

“Dean, I really appreciate the attempt at entertainment. I really do. And I have every intention of participating. But not right now.” He stepped out of his shoes and sat down on the blanket. “Right now, I’d rather you just joined me down here.”

Dean didn’t need to be told again. He kicked his shoes over to join Cas’ and kneeled down on the blanket.

***

“I have a questionnaire,” Sam stated, as he slid into the booth. “My approval is pending you filling it out.”

“Don’t be weird,” Dean snapped, looking up to see if Cas was offended. Which just proved how paranoid he was about this whole thing. Cas, naturally, was amused.

“I have a green pen with me. Is that acceptable, or do I need to requisition a black one.” He kept his face completely straight through the response and Sam grinned his stupidly floppy puppy dog grin.

“I don’t really. But if you’d been reluctant to fill it out--”

Cas finished for him, “Then that would have been immediate grounds for suspicion. I get it.”

“Great,” Dean sighed. “Now I’m surrounded by weirdoes.” But he couldn’t hide how pleased he was that everyone already seemed to approve of each other.

***

He should have known the status quo wouldn’t last. But, with his usual misperception, he’d allowed himself to believe that happiness had arrived for the long haul. It was almost seven in the evening when he rang Cas’ doorbell. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, waiting for someone to answer the door.

He didn’t expect the violence. Mr. Novak practically ripped the door from its hinges, and he was in Dean’s face before Dean’s eyes had adjusted to the brightness of the inside hallway glaring out at him. Instinct cowered him down, curling his head against his chest, protecting his front with his arms. Broken bones heal. Bruised kidneys can be more serious.

His textbook self-preservation reflexes didn’t turn out to be necessary. Before Mr. Novak could do more than make some threatening gestures, his wife had her arms around him.

“Chris,” she begged. “Look at the kid. You’ve scared him half to death.”

“I meant to Lynn!” Then he turned back to Dean. “If you think your little faggot ass is ever welcome here again, then you’re a bigger idiot than your kind usually is.”

It hadn’t been what Dean was expecting, and he risked a glance up, surprise evident.

“You thought I wouldn’t find out? You think my son could hide something like that from me? His own father? How about you get the fuck off my lawn before I call the police?”

Dean took giant steps back, trying to rewind the last few moments of his life. He was just about to turn and flee down the dark road, when Cas burst out of the house behind his parents.

“Leave him the fuck alone,” he screamed, and the intensity of his volume threatened to involve the neighbors. For all his verbal threats, Dean doubted the man actually wanted the police involved.

Sure enough he turned back to his son. “Lower your voice. You and I are _not_ finished with this. You will get back up to your room where I put you, until I figure out how to deal.”

Dean felt fear flare in his throat when Cas actually took a step back. Something new was written in those blue eyes, and Dean suddenly both did and did not want to know what happened before he got here.

It was Mrs. Novak who let Dean breath again. She stepped very calmly in-between her husband and her son. Her blue eyes matched Castiel’s, and what Dean saw there calmed him. It wasn’t a lack of fear, she was clearly afraid, but there was determination there.

Cas’ father saw it, too, because he pushed around his family to storm back into the house. Cas followed, with a last glance over his shoulder at Dean. He was trying to say something with his eyes, but Dean didn’t understand what it is. He was too shaken.

Cas’ mother was the last to go into the house and, at the last moment, she turned back to him. She spoke so quietly that Dean had to step closer to hear.

“Chris will come around. He’s a little shocked. I think we all are. But we’ll work it through as a family. And if we don’t…” Her clear eyes darkened, and Dean was not surprised to see her own anger there. “Well, if we don’t, then I said you’re welcome at this house any time, and I meant what I said. If worst comes to worst then I don’t see why my husband has to know who visits his son after school.”

She retreated into her home, and Dean was so surprised by the unexpected ally that he almost forgot to breath. It wasn’t until the porch light flicked off that he drew a deep shaky breath and carefully made his way back down to the sidewalk. He paused there for a moment, and then jumped when his cellphone vibrated. He dug it out and contemplated the text message with mixed emotions.

_I’m coming out the window. Wait for me._

He considered leaving anyway, which would force Cas back inside, but he couldn’t find the strength. Instead, he just hung around in the dark like a creeper. Eventually, he made out Cas’ form coming toward him across the lawn.

“You should go back inside,” he whispered, and, even in the dark, he could tell Cas rolled his eyes.

“Let’s head down that way. There’s the old-school playground, still with all the metal equipment. You can’t find stuff like that anymore.”

Dean followed. Like always.

Cas tried to start halfhearted conversations all the way there, and Dean tried to help, but they all fell flat. In the end, Dean broke first.

“So, what happened? How’d they find out?”

Cas sighed, but accepted the inevitable. “They finally confronted me about my degenerating moral paradigm. They had a bunch of examples, many of which, I’m embarrassed to say, I thought they didn’t know about. But they were so gentle about it. Even Dad. And I was so tired of lying to them and they kept saying ‘whatever it is, we’ll work through it’ and shit like that, that I actually believed them.” They’d arrived at the park, and Cas kicked hard into the gravel, spraying it up and listening to it rain back down. “I’m sorry”

“Why the fuck are you apologizing to me,” Dean gaped. “ _I’m_ sorry. I’m _so_ sorry. This never would have happened--” He cut himself off.

“What happened, happened. It would have been nice to keep that particular secret until I was out of the house for college, but it’s done. Maybe it’s better this way. I’ll never have to wonder if I should have made a different choice.”

“Your mom seemed ok with it.”

Cas snorted. “Yeah, I guess she wasn’t as vocal about her disapproval as Dad was.” He jumped up on the metal merry-go-round, standing still as the sudden weight pushed it in a lazy spin.

“That’s not what I meant,” Dean pressed, joining Cas up on the metal structure. He repeated what Mrs. Novak had whispered at him.

Cas stayed quiet for a while after that, staring up at the stars. When he finally spoke, his voice caught with emotion. “Well. There’s something, I guess.”

“It’s more than something. And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too.”

“What for? You didn’t give it away, I did. They were asking questions and they were getting close to the truth. I’m the one who let them drag it out of me.” He turned suddenly, almost losing his balance on the slippery metal. “You don’t think they’d call your dad, would they?”

Dean laughed once, a harsh bark without humor. “Um, no. People like your parents don’t step in the same social circles as my father. Besides, I doubt your dad wants to advertise, you know… Anyway, I’m sorry about me. I know you said they were asking questions and stuff, but they wouldn’t have been asking questions if it weren’t for me.”

“Dean,” Cas warned.

“No, it’s true ok. I made things more complicated.”

“You don’t think that’s kind of arrogant? Thinking that you single-handedly changed the dynamic of my household.”

Dean sat down on the ride, folding his legs beneath him. “I did change how you live your life, Cas. I changed how you behaved, how often you snuck out, how many times a day you lied. I compounded the complication.”

Cas joined Dean, sitting across from him. “And you’re realizing that I’ll resent you for it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Dean whispered. His eyes were watering and he was dangerously close to giving up and just crying in a random park by the side of the road. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m making this about me, after your whole life just got changed. Everything could go to hell for you.”

“For the next month and a half? Let’s be honest. Yes, that sucked. It was awful. I felt like I was going to throw up. My dad scared me, and he scared my mom. But I was going to tell them eventually, and I knew this was how my dad was going to take it. And it sounds like my mom exceeded my expectations. Dean, look at me. Do you even realize how _long_ and how _much_ I’ve been lying to them? They haven’t been my parents in years.”

“You’re too calm. This is shock or something.”

“It’s likely that I’ll freak out again later, but I’m not right now. You are. You’re freaking out, and I think I understand why. So let me take care of you. Let me focus on you.”

Dean nodded once and Cas took it.

“You know the day that I climbed up to Bobby’s apartment?”

“Don’t.”

“Shut the fuck up. You sit right there, and don’t say anything until I’m done. I was in so much shock, because it didn’t occur to me that someone would actually do that to their own child. Especially someone like you. You were so strong and gentle. You’re responsible and selfless.”

Cas moved so he was sitting on his knees, leaning over Dean to get right in his face.

“You gave me the courage, to be the person I wanted to be. And let me tell you something, Dean. You were there just in time. Pretending to be something you’re not does something ugly to a person. It breaks them. Almost four years ago, when we were freshman, I laid out 56 little round white pills I’d filched from Dad’s bathroom. I waited until my parents were out of the house, and I laid them all out in a row. I counted them three or four times, and I remember thinking how crazy it was that the number was 56 because 5 and 6 are right next to each other in numerical order. I remember getting frustrated and moving to the bathroom because the carpet in my room was too fuzzy. The pills kept getting out of line. I couldn’t get them to lie flat.”

Dean was openly crying. Tears and snot and heaving sobs, and Cas had to raise his voice to be sure Dean heard everything.

“I remember everything about that night so clearly, because I thought so hard about every step. I considered and reconsidered and perfected how I prepared. But you know what I cannot remember? Why I put all the stupid pills back in that bottle. No matter how hard I think, I don’t remember. One minute I’m staring at my perfect white line, and then next I’m dropping them one by one back in the bottle, instead of my mouth.”

He took Dean by the back of his head, pulling them toward each other so their foreheads were touching. He was crying too. Silent tears that accented his strength.

“I chose you, Dean. Four days later, you buried Kyle Reed’s face in a bowl of lasagna because he was making fun of my “dive-bar rent-boy” hair. You don’t even fucking remember, but I do. You beat him to hell. Like, you beat him the way you beat up people that messed with your little brother. And suddenly, I wanted to be you. Not the you who needed four staff members to break up the fight. Not the guy with bloody knuckles, a fractured finger, and a 4-day suspension. But the you that took the time and effort to protect someone. And when I realized that that was _not_ who I was, I thought, ‘why not?’”

“I remember it happening,” Dean managed. “I didn’t remember it was you, but I remember that day.” He dug his fingers deep into the shoulders of Cas’ shirt, twisting the fabric in his grip.

“That day changed everything because you gave me the strength to save _myself_. I fell for _you_ , Dean. I love _you_ , because I learned to love me. And if you want to stand here in the dark, and blame yourself for the fact that my father would rather I got busted smuggling drugs than be who I am, then you have to blame yourself for all of it. It’s your fault I’m here, alive and free. It’s your fault that I’m not ashamed of what I see in the mirror. It’s your fault I know what the wind at the top of that abandoned church tastes like. It’s the reason I’ve been skinny-dipping, and the reason I climb every tree I can get my fingers in. It’s the reason I wasn’t afraid to tell my dad about my first B. It’s all your fault, Dean. Every last bit.”

***

It was the turning point. Because how could a moment like that hang in time, without changing everything it touched?

While Cas’ dad did not turn out to be open to coming around, Cas’ mother undermined his declarations at every opportunity. In fact, she did so often enough that both Dean and Cas realized Cas hadn’t been the only one constricting themselves to fit into the family.

Cas did end up having a pretty intense freak out, and called Dean, who snuck into Cas’ house. Which was a first. He pushed down fears of felony charges and tried to be there for Cas like Cas had been there for him. It could have gone better, but it could have gone worse, too.

Sam and Cas continued to hit it off, exchanging phone numbers. Dean was more than a little freaked out when he realized how often they texted each other, but he let it go. If they were going talk about him, they’d find a way to do it anyway. And part of him liked that Cas was checking up on him. He wished he had a good way to subtly check up on Cas.

Eventually the storm settled, and everything hung in status quo. The Novak home settled to silent disapproval and an unspoken rule to never mention Dean, or anything related to sexual orientation. At least, not in front of the “head of the household,” as Mr. Novak had taken to calling himself. His wife was not amused.

Dean had pretty much accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to get into college on a baseball scholarship. His letters hadn’t generated much interest, his stats had been unchanged for months, and he just wasn’t putting his heart into it.

But Dean knowing it wasn’t going to happen was very different than John knowing it. Which Dean discovered late Wednesday night after he’d spent the evening at the diner. Cas had hung over the counter and declared he was bored every six minutes, like clockwork. But he hadn’t looked bored and he hadn’t suggest anything else, so Dean doubted it.

“Are you even trying, Dean?” his dad greeted him as he entered.

“Trying what?”

“Baseball, Dean. What the fuck else would I mean? You haven’t updated me about a single coach’s response and your game isn’t improving at all.”

 _You haven’t been to the last 4, so how would you know?_ “I am trying, Dad. It’s just…just because I want something doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

“Of course it’s not going to happen. These things don’t just _happen_. You have to _make_ them happen.”

Dean leaned against the table, keeping an easy exit from the house. “Dad. I don’t think it’s going to happen. I’m just not good enough.”

Dean had mentally prepared himself for a variety of possible reactions. Mostly all variations on the “I’m gonna fuck you up” foundation. However, what actually happened was a lot less satisfying.

John looked his older son up and down once and then sighed heavily. “Yeah. I guess you’re not,” he said. And then retreated back to his bedroom.

Dean actually had the fridge door open, staring down at the freshly restocked minibar that was his life, before he considered another option. He could physically feel his phone in his back pocket.

He let the fridge door swing shut, ignoring the “clink” of bottles, and pulled out his phone. He had sworn to himself, with every declaration he knew, that he wouldn’t ever call Cas like this. He had promised himself that he would be stronger than that.

He did it anyway.

***

A few weeks later, Cas and Dean were trying to cram for their finals. The end of the year was ready to slap them in the face, and neither of them was dealing with it well. Something magical about the word “graduation” just made them want to throw their books across the room and celebrate. They were at Cas’ kitchen table, and Mrs. Novak was working in the kitchen. Evert time they strayed off topic, she reminded them to get back to work.

At one point, Cas looked over and noticed that Dean was staring off into space, eyes glazed over, pencil loosely held in hand.

“You going to tell me where you are? Because it’s certainly not here with me.”

“I’m thinking about my ‘future’.” His tone was saturated with sarcasm, but Dean knew Cas wouldn’t buy the brush off.

“Yeah?” Cas put his pencil down. “What were you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking…” He trailed off, unsure how to actually voice what he wanted.

So Cas said, “You don’t want to play baseball.” Not a question.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Well, to be fair, I spend a lot of time with you. But that’s more what you don’t want to do. What _do_ you want?”

“It’s pretty stupid.”

“You know whenever you say things like that about yourself it pisses me off, right?”

Dean rolled his eyes, but took the hint. “I want to open a diner. But the thing is, I want to do it now. I don’t want to go to college and get an expensive education that’s going to put me in debt. I know what to do, because Bobby taught me. Getting the capital to actually open doors would be expensive enough. I’m not going to be able to do it with college debt.”

“It’s a valid point. I’m sure that, if you had any questions, Bobby would answer them. Maybe spend the summer working full-time at the diner. I’m sure he’d let you take on some authority, so you could get used to the responsibility.”

“Yeah, but it’s so _not_ the ‘safe’ decision. If you believe society.”

“Do what you want to do, Dean,” Mrs. Novak interrupted from the kitchen. “If you’re not happy, you’re not going to be any good to anyone. If you want to go to college, then go. If you don’t, then make other plans. Life is full of choices and sometimes the only wrong answer is to choose nothing at all. If you need to obsess over something, do it. If you need to break something, do it. If you need to take a day to run through the fields with your arms outstretched like an airplane, do it. If you need to leave someone you once loved…” Cas snapped his head up to make eye contact with her. Mother and son kept each other’s gaze for a weighted moment, and then she returned to the wiping down the counter.

Dean stared down at the homework they hadn’t been doing. He jumped, startled, when his phone rang. Digging it out, he glanced at the ID. He was confused to see his brother’s name and answered quickly.

“What’s up, Sam?”

“Dean?” came the tear-filled answer. Dean sat up straight, reaching out with one hand to clutch Cas’ sleeve.

“What? What is it? Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”

“No,” Sam choked out. “They called the house because it was his ICE contact.”

“Who, Sammy?”

“Bobby. He’s down at South Regional. He had some kind of heart attack and they rushed him out there. Someone has to get down there for him and Dad’s too shit-faced to drive right now.”

Dean flew to his feet, knocking over his chair in the process. “Cas,” he snapped, phone still pressed to his face. “You’re driving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In real life, should you find someone experiencing Dean's kind of abuse, I highly recommend taking pictures of the damage. Even if they won’t let you report it, you have evidence in case they change their mind. In fact, it’s worth noting that there are many situations that are bad enough that you should contact the authorities anyway, even without their permission.


	5. Chapter 5

The thing with hospitals is that they’re busy. Which was an easy fact to process when Dean wasn’t waiting for information, and a more difficult one once he was actually in the emergency room’s waiting area.

He glanced over at Cas, who was taping his leg up and down. He was staring straight ahead, sprawled out low in the chair. Dean didn’t think he’d blinked more than once in the last minute.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Dean asked, causing Cas to start.

“You sure you want to ask me that question?”

Sam leaned forward from Dean’s other side and looked straight as Cas. “Yes.” There was no indecision in his voice.

Cas glanced at Sam, then Dean, and then returned to staring at the wall across from them. “It’s not good news. It’s pretty rare not to let well-behaved family and friends into the room. It’s also not great that they haven’t already moved him to cardiology. Emergency rooms keep track of times like ‘door to cath lab.’ If he were stable enough, they’d be rushing him there now. So, it’s _very_ not great that we haven’t been referred upstairs. You should be prepared.”

Dean kept expecting to get angry. He wanted to want to throw things. Instead, he felt exhausted. It was like getting back from one of his longer runs, hot and sticky, and just wanting to lie on the floor. He kept trying to summon the strength to reassure Sam, but he didn’t even have the energy to think of what to say.

Approximately 10 mins later, a nurse in light blue scrubs called, “Singer’s family.” The three of them scrambled to their feet and crossed the room, following the nurse into yet another clean room. Cedar wood panels accented the cream walls and Dean sunk into the fraying couch. The whole room smelled like old linoleum, and Dean closed his eyes, trying to loose himself in the sensation.

“You’re Robert Singer’s friends and family?” a voice interrupted him. Dean opened his eyes to find himself looking up at a woman in her mid-thirties.

“Yeah. You the doctor?” he asked. “No white coat?”

“Not so much white coat wearing going on in the real world. Not down here in the ER anyway. There’s a lot of running from room to room.”

Dean scrambled to find another question to derail the conversation. Cas had said to prepare himself for the worst, but Dean had walked through the doors already convincing himself. Unfortunately, his mind failed to offer up another topic of small talk, and the doctor continued.

“I’m sorry, but I have bad news. Robert passed away a few minutes ago. The EKG in the ambulance indicated a MI at the LAD coronary artery, meaning he had a heart attack often referred to as ‘the widow-maker.’ By the time the ambulance arrived, the pulse had been lost and CPR was being performed. We were unable to get him back.” She looked back and forth, gaging the reaction in the room.

Dean nodded and stood up. “Yeah, ok. Um, is there something we have to sign and stuff?”

The doctor contemplated him for a moment, and then answered, “There is some paperwork that it would be helpful to have you fill out. There are also several social service individuals here for you to talk through this with, should you want to. I’ll get the nursing staff to walk you through it from here on out.” She paused to glance around the room again, and then disappeared back out the door.

“Do we have to?” Sam asked from the back of the room. His voice was heavy with pending tears. He kicked the couch hard, paused, and then kicked it again. “Why do they make us fill out stuff about stupid funerals and death wishes? Why can’t they leave us alone and let us go home.”

“Because we’re the only family he has,” Dean answered calmly. “And they can’t just keep a dead body here in the ER. They’re busy saving people who can actually be saved.”

Sam fell silent but continued to stare at the couch like it was personal offence. Dean wished he were young enough to join him.

“You sure you can handle this?” Cas asked, laying a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“I’m eighteen. I’m the only one who can. Dad’s certainly not going to make the journey. I don’t think he even understood what I was yelling at him.”

“No, I meant that we can just go. I’m sure they have protocols in place for when someone without family dies. They’ll figure it out.”

“He _has_ a family. I’m not leaving him here.”

Cas nodded and pulled Dean into a hug. “Ok. Do you want to talk to a counselor or something? A social worker, or whatever it was the doctor called it.”

Dean rolled his eyes into Cas’ shoulder, knowing Cas already knew the answer to that question.

***

The following days were almost what Dean expected. Multiple episodes of deciding to head out to the diner, only to remember it was closed. Concerned glances from Cas that continued to piss Dean off more than help. More than one episode of finding Sam crying alone in their bedroom. Missed days of school, interviews with guidance counselors, and the oppressive whirlwind that was graduation preparation. The funeral itself was too full of responsibility for Dean to morn properly. He had to coordinate flowers, a speaker, invites, and too many other things. He mourned by himself the next morning, sitting down in the shower, after he’d forced Sam to go to school.

What was unexpected was the phone call that came two days after Bobby’s death.

“What?” Dean answered.

“Is this Dean Winchester?”

“Probably. Who wants to know?”

“This is Garth Fitzgerald. We spoke briefly a few days ago regarding the death of your friend Robert Singer.”

Dean’s breath automatically caught in his throat, but he pushed through it, “Yeah, the lawyer guy. I remember you. What did you need? Did I do something wrong with some paperwork or something. Some of it didn’t make sense to me.”

“No, not at all Dean. I’m actually calling to discuss the terms of Bobby’s will. Two years ago, he set up a trust in your name, naming you secondary beneficiary. Now that he, the primary recipient, had passed on, it’s technically yours.”

“I have no idea what that means. Isn’t a trust what those rich kids in movies live off of?”

Garth laughed. “Something like that. However, in this case, it more means that everything Bobby owned is now automatically yours. He even set up his life insurance policy within the trust, so that also goes through it to you.”

Dean fled his house so he could have the conversation on his lawn, rather than 15 feet from his father. “You’re going to have to go through that with me again.”

“No problem, although it’ll be easier if you come here in person. There’s some more paperwork that you’ll need to sign. We can go through it then.”

Which turned out to change everything. After four separate freak outs, two hours talking it through with Cas, one ongoing text message conversation with Sam, and a short drive downtown, Dean found himself the unexpected owner of several thousand dollars, besides the diner and conjoined apartment.

“I don’t understand,” Dean repeated to Cas.

“Which is starting to get annoying, honestly. Dean, what else was he going to do with it? I wish you weren’t so constantly surprised by the fact that people care about you.”

“What should I do with it?”

Cas didn’t respond to that, and eventually Dean turned around to stare at him accusingly.

“Look, I’m not going to answer that question, Dean. You have to figure that one out on your own. Besides, I think you already know what I’m going to say. I mean, you flip a good burger.”

***

“Hey, coach.”

“What do you want Winchester?” Henriksen sighed. “If this is you confessing to something before I hear about it from the principal, don’t think that’s going to make me any less pissed.”

“Yeah, I guess I deserve that,” Dean stated. “That’s not it, though. I actually had a question about life choices and other cliché stuff like that.”

Henriksen’s face softened at that. “Sorry, Dean. I should remember what you’ve been going through this last week.”

“It’s not over yet. See, Bobby left me all his stuff, including the diner. If I sell it, then I can pay for college and get on the team from there. It wouldn’t matter that I didn’t get a scholarship. I could probably still play.”

“That doesn’t sound like a question.”

“Yeah, I guess not. I’m asking whether or not you think I should do that.”

“You’re really something, Winchester. You refuse to talk to me about anything at all personal for four years, and then you want life-changing advise in the last 2 weeks of school?”

“I’m not a big sharer. And I know what my dad would say already.”

“You realize that, as an education professional, I’m mostly required to say that you should go to college, right?”

“Yeah, I guess I knew that. I was hoping you’d elaborate, though. Convince me.”

“You want me to convince you to go to college instead of opening a diner.”

“Yeah.”

“All right. Let’s see. Bobby’s diner has a pretty intense following, completely with loyal customers and a solid clientele. They know you, so it’s unlikely they’d resent your takeover. While you’ve always seemed to enjoy baseball, I never got the overwhelming passion that I got from your dad. You’ve never been as comfortable on the field as you were when I saw you at the grill or, even better, talking a customer through a rough day with a black coffee and a stack of pancakes. You’re responsible enough that-”

“No,” Dean interrupted him. “Convince me to _go_.”

“Was that not what I was doing? My bad.”

***

In an act of desperation, Dean considered bringing the issue up to his dad. Sam said that his hesitation to do so meant that Dean wanted to reopen the diner and was afraid John would talk him out of it. Dean swore to himself that the world would have to go to hell to keep that kid from becoming a lawyer.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, the topic ended up coming out in the heat of a moment so charged with aggression that it practically got overlooked.

Dean had just gotten home from Cas’ where he’d spent the last four hours trying, and mostly failing, to push his current problem from his mind and focus on Botany. After Cas had dropped him off, Dean continued to stand at the foot of the driveway. He leaned part of his weight against the mailbox, his backpack heavy on one shoulder.

His phone vibrated and he pulled it out. A text message from Sam read, in all caps, “DON’T COME HOME TONIGHT!”

Which, of course, meant that he rushed up the driveway and slammed through the front door as quickly as he could move. He found himself face to face with his father who was yelling something Dean didn’t care about. His eyes darted around the room until he found Sam, standing in the hallway and frozen with fear. He didn’t look hurt, so Dean turned his focus to his father.

“So are you going to tell me what the truth was or not?” John screamed.

“You’re going to have to a be a little more specific,” Dean said. He motioned at Sam to retreat down the hallway, and got slapped in the face for his effort.

“No, I want him to watch this,” John seethed. “I want him to hear your explanation for where exactly you have been disappearing to this last semester. Because I just had an _extremely_ interesting conversation with Mr. Miller, and he was very confused when I mentioned all those extras games and extra practices that you’ve been attending for _the last three months_. How long did you think you were going to be able to keep it from me?”

“Well, I was shooting for another two weeks,” Dean snapped. He knew it was a stupid move, given the current situation, but he felt empty and full of holes.

John took Dean by his shirt and slammed him back against the wall. Dean saw black for a moment when his head made contact with the rounded corner of the wooden door frame. Sam was shouting now, but stayed in the safety of the hallway. Dean thanked every deity he could think of that the kid still had _some_ sense.

“You really are a sinking weight on this family, aren’t you, Dean? Dragging us all down until we’re barely breathing. Do you think it’s easy making enough money to pay for your equipment and summer camps and all the expenses you draw in? You can’t even get a proper job to help out, spending way too much time at that shit diner, rarely coming home with anything in your pockets.”

Dean shoved back, for the first time in years, and John stumbled back a few steps. Dean screamed, “I’m dealing with my future in the face of losing my friend, and you want to talk about where I _go_ at night? What do you care? You _never_ care!”

He tried to block the punch that came at his side, but he was used to dealing with John when he was drunk. He got a bruised arm that barely lessened the force of the hit for his trouble. He twisted away and retreated into the kitchen, fighting to get his breath back.

“I don’t want to play baseball anymore, Dad. I want to keep Bobby’s diner running. Hell, even Henriksen understood that. I stood in front of him and admitted that what I wanted was the exact opposite of what he’d made of his life, and he _still_ supported it.”

He circled the table, keeping it between him and the rage that had been his father.

“What’s more is that I actually wanted his advice. You, you’ve been shoving your own ideals down my throat for 12 years, but when I needed advice you were literally the last person I went to.”

He ducked away from the empty bottle that came at his head. It shattered against the wall and Dean was grateful he hadn’t had time to take off his shoes. Glass crunched beneath his feet, and he glanced at the door. Maybe he could get out. If Dad chased him, Sam could slip out behind. They could get to Cas’. Cas would come get them.

“You are _my_ son,” John snarled. “What you do, goes through me.”

“Bullshit.” Dean noticed that Sam had made the journey from the hallway out into the living room. His eyes widened when he realized that Sam had the phone clutched in both hands, held out in front of him like a shield.

_Tell me he’s not that stupid._

His hope shattered when Sam shouted, “I’m calling the police!”

John turned to make for Sam, and Dean’s heart dropped when he realized that John was closer than he was. He couldn’t get between them in time.

“I’m gay!” he screamed desperately, and it had the desired effect. John almost fell over, he stopped so quickly, turning to stare in incredulity. “Sammy get out of the house,” Dean continued, but all Sam did was stare in white faced, tight-lipped silence.

“You had better be trying for attention, Dean,” John whispered, and the emptiness there made Dean literally shiver in fear.

“Am not. I’m currently dating Castiel, the infamous study partner. I’ve been sneaking out of the house to see him for months. And you had no fucking idea.”

“Dean, don’t tell!” Sam said, significantly too late.

“You knew?” John shouted, rounding back on the younger Winchester. He flung his hand back, and Dean’s world fell apart in one backhand. It hit Sam full in the face, throwing him backward. His shoulder hit the couch, and he rebounded off of it to crumple on the floor.

Dean had crossed the kitchen before he breathed in. He wrapped his arms under his dad’s and twisted, using his body weight to bring John to the ground with Dean on top. Dean landed one brutal punch and then rolled off.

“Dean,” Sam breathed, looking in awe at their father, stunned on the floor and bleeding from his nose.

Dean didn’t respond, surging to his feet and taking Sam by the upper arm to drag him toward the front door. When Sam resisted, Dean stooped down and threw him over his shoulder, barely losing his stride. He didn’t stop moving until they were a block away.

He lowered Sam to the ground. He stood trembling, still clutching the house phone. Dean dug out his own phone and dialed.

“Hey, Cas. This might or might not come as a surprise, but I need you to come get me. Well, get us. Right now. Are you home yet?”

“I’m barely on the main road, Dean. I’m turning around now. What happened?”

“Kinda the same thing that happened at your house about a month ago. Only it was less because of careful questioning and more because of lots of yelling.” Dean imagined he could hear the squeal of tires through the phone as Cas pulled a U-turn. “We’re several houses down from ours.”

“Dean, I am absolutely coming to get you right now. But you should know that my dad is already home. It’s not going to be much better there.”

“I’ve got another idea.” He slipped the hand that wasn’t holding the phone down into his pocket to clutch his key ring. He squeezed it tightly enough that the edges dug painfully into his fingers.

“Ok. I’ll be there soon.”

They both hung up, and Dean looked down at his brother.

“We should go home,” Sam said, shaking so hard that his words came out stuttered. Dean sat down on the sidewalk next to him and gently coaxed the phone out of his whitening fingers. He threw it down onto the pavement.

“No,” was the only indication he gave that he’d heard Sam at all.

“Seriously, Dean. If we don’t go home, I don’t want to think about what’s going to happen. What if he’s out here looking for us?”

“He’s not. And we’re not going back. He’s never hurt you before. That’s my line in the sand. We’re done there.”

“We should go home,” Sam repeated.

“Listen, Sam. You’re in shock, so I need you to try and listen to me. Do you understand?” He sighed in relief when Sam nodded, face still pale. “Good. Now, we’re not going home. We’re going to the diner. We’re going to Bobby’s diner.”

“Bobby’s not there.”

“I know. I know, Sammy. It’s mine now. So we are going home. We’re going to my home. We’re going to the diner.”

After a long moment, Sam seemed to accept this, nodding once. Dean gathered him into his arms, and they both stayed on the pavement, waiting for Cas.

***

It was weird, being the one to unlock the diner himself. But actually stepping into the empty building wasn’t so strange. He’d often left the diner after it was quiet and dark. This wasn’t much different.

Cas had offered to stay, but they’d all known it was a bad idea. Graduation was close enough to taste, and it wasn’t the time for stupid decisions. Even Mrs. Novak would have been against an impromptu sleepover. Eventually, Cas was driving away and Sam and Dean were standing forlornly in an abandoned apartment.

“So you own this,” Sam said. “Are you going to live here now?”

Dean snorted. “It’s looking more and more like it.”

“Can I live here, too.”

“I’d love nothing more. But I’ve thought this through more often than you have, and I’m worried that it won’t fly. If I want to get custody of you, it’s probably not wise to start with a kidnapping charge.”

“He wouldn’t care,” Sam protested, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“I know, Sam. But let’s just stay here for the night and then figure things out from there. I’ll talk to this lawyer I know and see what it takes to get custody in this kind of case.” He looked around the room. “I have a home and I’m employed. That’s got to count for something.”

“You’re going to open up the diner?” Sam was practically jumping up and down. The kid had a quick recovery time.

“It’s looking more and more like it.”

“So what’s the plan for Dad?”

Dean shrugged, but the concern was deeply etched into his face.

It turned out to be a wasted concern. They spent the next couple of days alternating between the diner and Cas’ house. Then, after the weekend passed, Dean followed Sam back to their father’s house after school. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but an empty house wasn’t on the list. The two of them hung around for the day, waiting through sunset and well into the night. When Sam discovered that Mary’s picture was missing, they came to the conclusion that John had split.

“Just like after the fire,” Sam commented quietly, and Dean didn’t have anything to say to that.

***

Dean spent the next several weeks dealing with the emotional fallout of all the life changing events that had decided to hit him in the face at the same time. Graduation day came, which was exciting, and went, which was more exciting. By the end of the day, Dean and Cas had fought four times, made up five times, both searched the crowd for their fathers, both were disappointed, and both acted like they hadn’t noticed. Sam had a full time job making sure both of them actually stuck around long enough to walk across the damn stage.

But they both managed, protests heavy on their lips, and they were both happy with the decision. Or at least, Mrs. Novak was happy enough for everyone. The four of them, Sam, Dean, Cas, and Mrs. Novak, all headed back to the diner once the mandatory festivities were over. Dean cooked everyone burgers and they managed to get through the whole night without bringing up the fact that Mrs. Novak had thrown her husband out of the house the day before.

Sam volunteered to clean the grill, which meant that he tried while Dean laughed and mocked from the background. Eventually Cas joined in, which didn’t really help. They made painstakingly slow progress. Cas’ mom joined Dean, leaning against the back wall of the kitchen. She looked like she wanted to say something, but didn’t.

Eventually Sam crashed, and Dean led him up to bed. When he got back down Cas was speaking quietly with his mom. “I’m not saying leave me here. Just give me a minute, ok? Go wait in the car or something.”

They both glanced quickly at Dean when they heard his approach. “You guys heading out?” he asked.

“In a minute,” Cas hinted, and his mom slipped out of the diner with a roll of her eyes.

“So,” Dean sighed. “It looks like I’m really doing this.”

“If you keep being surprised, it’s never going to happen.”

“Yeah, I know. I keep thinking it’ll become normal to be here eventually. But it’s still weird to work the keys and punch in the alarm code. I panicked the other day and forgot it. It took over an hour to straighten everything out with the authorities.”

Cas laughed. “I like you. You remind me of myself when I was young and stupid.”

“Hey,” Dean warned.

“Seriously though, when are you meeting with that lawyer Garth recommended?”

“Tuesday. We’ve got a few last things to finish up, and then I’m legally free and clear to schedule a re-opening day.”

“I’m sure it’ll be welcomed back. The people who love this place really love this place. They love you, too.”

“Yeah?’ Dean teased. “It’s nice to know that people _love_ me.”

“Get over yourself,” Cas, laughed, shoving at Dean. Except he wasn’t so much shoving as he was getting his fingers tangled in Dean’s shirt.

“What? I thought we’d been working so hard on the opposite. You seem hell-bent on pointing out that my self-esteem is in the gutter.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but his smile was tight. He stood up on tiptoe to put himself right in Dean’s ear. “I love you,” he whispered.

For the first time in his life, Dean took the deeply sincere compliment for its true value, smiling his acceptance into Cas’ neck.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your time, guys! This ended up being longer than I anticipated, which was amazing. Seriously, I originally thought, 10k. Maybe. So much fun. :)  
> Also, there was lots and support and help from VintagePoison. Thanks, girl. Love ya!


End file.
